A Good Soldier, Book One: Ten Nights of the Beast
by Danbidder
Summary: Six months after the Joker is captured (read my version of the Killing Joke) Batman faces a new enemies and gains a new allies. Reviews, comments, and questions are welcomed.
1. Chapter 1 SETTLED

1

**SETTLED**

**ONE WEEK PRIOR TO THE JOKER'S CAPTURE**

**SIMI VALLEY, CA**

Ivan Bulgakov blew out the candles on his first birthday cake with a little help from mom and dad. His parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, and party guests all cheered for him. The little boy clapped and looked around smiling, though at only a year old he didn't quite comprehend what the party was actually about. The family did, however and they were celebrating big, as Russians love to do.

His grandfather, whom he was named after, had spared no expense. He had hired a Russian caterer, a Russian band, and Russian dancers for entertainment to come out to his five acre ranch. He had done quite well for himself in America. Bulgakov loved America very much and had considered it his home for many years, but he had never forgotten the love for his homeland.

He cheered and clapped for his first grandchild. Ivan looked around at his family, taking it all in. He had a beautiful wife, two beautiful daughters with husbands, and now his eldest son and his wife had just given him a grandchild. An American grandchild! He never would have believed that possible twenty five years ago before he came to the United States. His son had been born in the Soviet Union but his daughters had been born in Virginia. He had been here over two decades now and still had a hard time believing it. But the world changes, and he had learned to change with it. Bulgakov was nothing if not a pragmatic man. He hoped his grandson would be taught to embrace and love his Russian heritage as much as his American one. He imagined he would.

The party eventually wound down as little Ivan fell asleep quite early. The band and dancers left, caterers packed and cleaned up, and the house eventually settled. The family sat around a table in the dining room drinking, reminiscing, catching up on each other's lives. They talked until well past midnight. Ivan told his children to stay over with their spouses instead of driving home inebriated, and each couple took a guest room. The entire family fell asleep under one roof, something that rarely happened anymore, even on holidays.

As usual, Bulgakov woke up in the middle of the night to use the restroom. He was not a young man anymore and had to make frequent trips. He got up as silently as he could and stumbled into the master bathroom, closed the door and flipped on the light. He finished, shut the light off and opened the door and walked back towards his bed. He stopped, startled. Sitting in a chair in the corner of his bedroom was a man cradling his grandson as he slept. He thought at first the dark was playing tricks on him. Until he heard the man's voice. It was a voice that had haunted his nightmares for nearly three decades.

"Good evening, General," the man holding the toddler said in Russian. "Very beautiful party. It is nice to see that you still think of the motherland."

"You...," the grandfather whispered in English. "My God..."

"What a very American thing to say, General. You have assimilated quite well. Please, let's speak in our native tongue. It's much more appropriate, yes?" The general nodded his compliance. "Thank you," the man responded.

Bulgakov looked over to his sleeping wife. He looked at his cell phone lying on the nightstand charging. He thought of the gun he kept in the nightstand. But they were at least ten feet away. It might as well have been a mile considering the capabilities of the man holding his grandson. He knew this. He knew the man knew this.

"Do not bother, sir," the man said. "We both know it will do you no good. And do not bother trying to yell for help, your family will not be waking up."

"Are...are they dead?" he tentatively asked.

"No, they are merely drugged. I will kill them later. How I do that is up to you. If you give me what I want now it will be painless for all of them. You know me. You know what I am capable of."

The former Major General of the Soviet Union felt urine stream down his leg. He did indeed know what this man was capable of. "What do you want?" he asked. He started to shake.

"The list, General. I want the list."

"I...I...," Bulgakov stammered. He had just lost all hope.

"What, General?"

"I don't have the list."

The man holding the toddler shrugged. "Very well. I will remove the fingers and eyes of each member of your family until you give me the list. I will start with the child." He stood up.

"No!" the general yelled. "I swear to you I don't have it. I never had it. We were never told anything after we got here. We used a series of cutouts. None of us has the list. Only pieces."

The man believed him. It made more sense for operational security. Plus he didn't believe the general cared so little about his family as to hide information that would prevent their horribly painful deaths.

"You will give the piece that you have then. Names, General. I want names."

Bulgakov nodded. He gave the Russian what little information he had. It wouldn't save his family, but it would spare them pain.

"May I make a final request?" he asked the man.

"Why should I grant a request to a man who betrayed our Mother Russia?"

"I betrayed the Soviet Union. I saved Russia! I saved it from war. From annihilation. We wouldn't have survived."

"You betrayed us. We would have become the greatest empire this world has ever seen. Still, I am not unreasonable. What is your request?"

"May I hold my grandchild one last time?"

"Yes, I will allow that. You have sixty seconds," the man said. He stepped into a shaft of moonlight coming through the window as he handed the toddler off.

Bulgakov's jaw dropped when he finally saw the man's face clearly. He had expected the man to be in his mid to late fifties. The man before him barely looked thirty.

"My God... Anitoli...," the old man finally stammered. "You've barely aged."

"You have thirty seconds, General."

Ivan Bulgakov made national headlines the next day. Media outlets all across the country reported the story of the tragic murder-suicide in California. The owner of a security consulting company had drugged, shot and killed his wife, children, and grandchild before turning the gun on himself.

**SIX MONTHS LATER**

**GOTHAM CITY**

Barbara Gordon threw the remote angrily at her television. The same news story had been running for a week now. The Joker had been miraculously cured of his insanity while in Arkham and was actually being released. All charges against him had been dropped because of his "diminished capacity" while committing the crimes. He had been making the rounds on the broadcast and cable news shows with his doctors, lawyers, and advocates. He poetically stated his remorse for all the pain and sorrow he had inflicted on his victims and vowed to spend the rest of his life making up for what he had done. He even tearfully pleaded to meet with survivors and their families to personally apologize to each one. The public ate it up. Bullshit. She didn't believe it for one minute and she was going to prove it. Her cell phone buzzed and she picked it up to see who was calling.

"Hey, Daddy," she answered.

"Hey sweetheart, I ran over in one meeting which means the next meeting is going to run late which means I'll be late for lunch," Commissioner Gordon said.

"Okay, do you want to reschedule? It's not a problem."

"Like hell. I miss seeing you at the house. I'm sure as hell not going to miss a lunch with you."

"That's sweet, but it's fine."

"At the most I'll be thirty minutes behind. If they don't like it they can fire me."

"Dad, you're the one who accepted your job back. It's part of it. That's perfect, it gives me time to people watch."

"Okay, sweetheart. Thanks for understanding. I'll see you soon."

"Bye," she said as she pushed the end button.

She reached over and grabbed the walker next to her couch. Barbara painfully stood up and moved towards the door.

She could only move ten inches at a time but it was ten inches more that the doctors ever told her she would walk, even with assistance. Barbara Gordon had been their miracle patient. She astonished doctors, nurses, and physical therapists with her recovery. She had pushed harder and given more than anyone they had ever seen, and never had they heard her complain. The more they asked the harder she pushed, drawing on some seemingly bottomless well of determination. At times they had actually asked her to slow down and take it easier on herself. Her doctors now said that within six months she would be using crutches instead of the walker. Within a year she might walk unassisted. Barbara decided to do it in half the time.

She made her way to the entry table by the door to her apartment. She grabbed a light jacket from one of the coat hooks above the table and slowly put it on. Everything was slower now, but she had gone over the hump and was becoming faster. She grabbed her purse and keys off the table and opened the door. Barbara didn't see the punch coming.

She fell back onto the floor of her entry way. The Joker stepped in and shut the door with his foot. He immediately grabbed her walker, raised it above him, and brought it down on her head, stunning her. He tossed the walker to the side.

The Joker grabbed her by the hair and pulled her into the living room where he dropped her.

"Ya know," he said, "I hate to leave a job half finished. It's some sort of work ethic I guess."

Barbara stared up at him in horror. His hair had been cut short and was back to it's natural brown. He wasn't wearing the makeup anymore, just the frozen grin he could never get rid of.

"And I am tired of outsourcing," he said as he unzipped his black jeans. "Why pay someone to do something you can do yourself? You ready for round two? Party time!"

Oh God, not again, please!

"... and then I woke up."

"Wow, Barbara. That's an intense dream. I'm sorry that happened. Okay, so let's take a look at it. You first. What's your take?"

Barbara was sitting in her psychologist's office. She had gone through several shrinks the first couple months after the attack trying to find the right fit. Her new doctor was spectacular. He was exactly what she needed. He was sensitive to her situation without being condescending as some of the others had. He talked with her, not at her. His patients were given tools and insight to cope and help heal themselves, not simply become dependent on therapy. This wasn't spoon fed therapy, it was interactive.

Doctor Hugo Strange had a particular specialty. He specifically treated victims of trauma cause by what the media glamorized as "supervillains". It was a relatively new niche in the field of therapy and had been developed because of the often public and unique nature of supervillains, their crimes, and the effects on their victims. Barbara was even going to a support group specifically for victims of the Joker, as well as a rape survivor group.

"Okay... well first it's ridiculous to think that the Joker would be released. Obviously I'm scared he'll get out somehow. The walker-"

"Let me stop you right there. Yes, it is ridiculous to think the Joker will ever be let out. In my opinion he will always be a dangerous psychopath and I'd bet my degree it'll never happen. But I think you skipped something really important."

"What's that?"

"The public reaction to the Joker. In your dream he becomes a media favorite and receives leniency and even forgiveness after he is shown remorse."

"So..."

"So do you have any issues with someone who showed leniency or forgiveness towards the Joker?"

_Oh shit, he's good. _"No," she lied. This was the part of therapy she hated. She could never fully reveal everything about her life and how the Joker had truly affected her or her relationships. It impeded her progress and frustrated her. Bruce hadn't contacted her since the hospital and she wasn't going to expose him.

"No? You don't think the cops should have killed him? The unofficial story is Batman saved your father. You don't feel the Batman should have killed him?"

_Wow, he's real good. _"Oh, I see what you mean." She figured saying that she didn't want the Joker killed would have been too obvious a lie. "Um yeah, after he attacked me I wanted somebody to kill him. It didn't matter to me who or how."

"And now?"

Barbara took a moment to reflect before answering. Though she couldn't say everything she wanted to she tried to be as honest as possible without compromising the Team.

"I still wish he was dead, but I don't want him to be murdered. Self defense I understand. But he shouldn't be put down like a dog."

"So what changed?"

"I... He corrupts. He likes to break people. I think he would like it if someone murdered him. The more innocent the better. I don't want someone becoming a killer like him. That person would be just another victim. He would still win."

"Good, Barbara, good. I want you to just sit on that. We'll set aside this part and come back to it in a later session. What can you tell me about the rest of the dream?"

"Okay... the walker is obviously my fantasy about somehow walking again despite what the doctors said. I'm having a hard time accepting that."

"As you should be. I would be worried if you just took it gracefully and with a smile. It's supposed to take time," Dr. H said as he smiled at his patient. "You're doing good so far. Okay, what else?"

Barbara closed her eyes to think. "I feel trapped with my dad. I feel dependent and want my freedom which is why I was in an apartment and not our house... but I think I dreamed he had his job back for him?"

"Okay, maybe a return to normalcy?"

"Yeah, sounds right."

"Okay," Dr. H said as he looked at his watch. "Good job today. Really good. Are you writing all the dreams down in your journal?"

"Yeah."

"Good, good. I want you to also write what we talked about today. Your thoughts on your dreams. Good insights. One last thing I want to bring up. You didn't mention Dick in the dream."

"He wasn't in the dream."

"Exactly."

"Do you think that means something?" she asked, confused.

"I think it means more than if he had actually been in the dream. Whatever you're feeling there even your subconscious doesn't want to face."

The elevator doors opened and Barbara rolled herself out into the lobby of the office building where Dr. Strange had his office. The security guard nodded politely to her as she rolled back. He gave her that look she got dozens of times from dozens of strangers every day she was out in public. The _that poor girl is in a wheelchair_ look. She hated that look. She hated the way people would part like the Red Sea for her as she rolled down the sidewalk, yet were usually too awkward to smile and say something as simple as "Good morning!" as they walked by. She hated the way men would notice her red hair at a restaurant but then look awkwardly away when they saw she was in a wheelchair. The worst was when people would talk to her like she was deaf or mentally challenged.

Children would stare at her, point and ask mommy or daddy why the lady was in a wheelchair. Barbara didn't mind this. The children were just curious as children should be. The mortified parent would usually blush, grab the offending hand, and tell their child it's rude to stare and point and walk away.

Occasionally Barbara would roll over and talk to the children and their parents, answering any questions the kids had. The questions were often repetitive and simple but sometimes very complex and clever. When asked what happened she would usually say she had just been in a terrible accident at home. Sometimes the parents would recognize her, sometimes they could tell just by the look in her eyes that was as much as she could say in front of the kids. The parents always thanked her for being kind. So far it had been the only good thing about being in the damn chair.

Barbara went outside and pulled her cell phone out of the backpack hanging on the back of her chair. She saw that she had one voicemail from Ted. She called and checked the message.

_Hey Babs, it's Ted. Everything's finally complete. I can show it to you tomorrow morning if you want. I think you'll like it. Okay, lemme know._

Barbara erased the message and smiled. Tomorrow was going to be the best day she had had in over six months.


	2. Chapter 2 SETUP

2

**SETUP**

**GOTHAM CITY**

Barbara drove her van into the underground parking garage of the office building she had her meeting at. She found a handicapped spot and parked. Barbara hated using handicapped spaces, but needed the extra space on the side to remove her wheelchair. She crawled to the back of the van, opened the sliding side door, set her chair on the ground and hopped in.

Barbara rolled into the lobby and went to the security desk. She presented her driver's license and received a visitor's pass from the guard. She made her way to the elevator and pushed the button for the twentieth floor. When the doors opened on her floor Ted Kord was already standing there waiting.

"Good morning," Ted greeted her, smiling. Ted Kord owned a defense contracting company that competed with LexCorp and Wayne Enterprises for government accounts not related to weapons. He was also the superhero known as the Blue Beetle and had been a member of the Justice League. He had worked with Batman and the rest of the Team on numerous occasions. "Welcome to your new office." He spread his arms wide and presented the space to Barbara.

"Oh God, Ted. It's gorgeous!"

Barbara looked around at the office. She had helped pick out the decor and design, but had left Ted and the construction crew to work without constantly checking on them. The office was decorated with contemporary furniture and art. The walls were all glass with frosted designs and the furniture was a warm cream color. Ted started giving her the grand tour.

"Okay, so this whole top floor is yours. Half of it's your office. The other half is a fully functional three bedroom apartment. I know you said you're not moving out yet, but we finished ahead of time and it's ready. Since you're not going to have a receptionist I decided to put a fridge with drinks here in your lobby slash waiting room. Clients can just grab what they want and see it through the glass door. Put a Keurig coffee maker here, too." He continued walking as she followed him through the lobby into the office space. "We have a meeting or conference room on your right there," he pointed to as they walked past. "And here we have your main space. Glass exterior walls with a beautiful view of the skyline, your desk, computer hub with the best hardware on the market."

"Ted, it's gorgeous."

"Yes it is. Too bad you're not going to actually use it." Barbara smiled. "Everything's set. I set up several dummy corporations for clients and backdated their filings in case anyone checks. As far as the IRS and the world are concerned they existed before your company did. Any issues come up you let me know. You are now officially a web designer and security specialist with an office and well paying official clients." He beamed with pride at his work. "You sure about the company name? 'Gordon Web Design and Security' isn't too creative."

Barbara laughed. "I saved the good name for the other thing. Ted, it's better than I pictured," Barbara said as she looked around. "I really don't know what to say."

Ted shrugged it off. "Just wait until you see the real space."

He led Barbara back to the elevator and got in with her. "Okay, Babs. I put in the security measures you wanted. It's ready to go. Wanna do the honors?"

Barbara took a deep breath and let it out. She was about to see the fruition of months of hard work and planning. In the last four months she had read and therefore memorized nearly every relevant book on computers and the internet available. Any information that wasn't publicly available had been acquired and sent to her discreetly by Alfred. She absorbed all material she could on the subject. Her speed reading skills combined with her photographic memory had allowed her to become one of the world's foremost internet and computer experts within months. Her new life was about to start.

Barbara punched in 1989 on the elevator, holding her finger on the buttons long enough for her fingerprint to be read. "Bravo Juliet Golf," she said for the voice print analysis. She looked up at the security camera for the retinal and facial recognition scans. After five seconds the elevator activated and rose one more floor. The doors opened and her jaw dropped.

"Not bad, huh?" Ted asked.

Barbara slowly wheeled in and looked around. The entire floor had been converted into what looked like a miniature Bunker or Cave. She saw a smaller version of the war room, a gym, full kitchen, and infirmary. On the left behind a clear polymer glass partition she saw something that made her literally gasp with glee. She knew it would be here, but seeing it in person for the first time was awe inspiring.

"Barbara, you're looking at your very own Titan supercomputer."

"Oh my God..."

The Titan was the world's most powerful supercomputer. It had a theoretical peak performance exceeding 20 petaflops (quadrillion calculations per second). It would take each of the world's 7 billion people solving 3 million math problems per second to match Titan's power.

It was also one of the largest computers in the world in physical size. Nearly the size of a basketball court, it used two hundred cabinets the size of a refrigerator that needed as much electricity as small town. Twenty four inch pipes criss crossed the space and ran forty two degree water through them to cool the massive machine. Anyone spending more than fifteen minutes in the room with the supercomputer had to wear earplugs or risk permanent hearing damage. The din in the room didn't come from the computer's forty thousand whirring processors, but from the fans and water pipes cooling them. If the dull roar surrounding Titan were to fall silent, those tens of thousands of processors doing those thousands of trillions of calculations would melt right down into their racks.

"Oh my God," Barbara repeated. It was better than what the Team used. And it was all hers.

"Babs, trust me you have no idea how difficult this was to get and install. I had to get Booster and Skeets to help."

"What about the power source?"

Ted Kord grinned. "That was harder than getting the damn thing. I own two other office buildings and a production warehouse near here. Cleared the office buildings and warehouse and installed multiple massive generators in each and tied multiple trunk lines to here. Top of the line security at all of them. Everything is shielded and soundproofed, this place included. You'll have access to any system you want now. NSA, CIA, FBI, JLA, all of them. This is my masterpiece."

"What was the total cost?"

"Expensive. And highly illegal. You sure you can cover my tracks on this?"

"It'll be done today," Barbara said with a smile. "You're getting everything back and it won't even show that it happened. And the best part is Lex Luthor is going to pay for it."

"How's that?"

"I get a percentage of every penny he makes."

"His people won't notice?" Ted asked cautiously.

"Not when I'm done."

"Love it. Okay, got some some other stuff to show you. Follow me." Ted walked with her over to the computer hub. There were a dozen monitors and six keyboards attached to a massive three sided desk. "So, check this out. You now have your very own satellite locked in a geosync orbit above Gotham. I had one of Kord Industry's sats decommissioned and leased to your company. You have your own personal eye in the sky. And the best part is it's linked up with some other stuff."

Ted started typing on a keyboard and brought up a picture of his new invention, a micro unmanned aerial vehicle. It was a matte black saucer the size of a Frisbee. Four rotors surrounded the body and were encased in protective disks.

"I designed this for the Department of Defense, but got outbid by Luthor. This thing is whisper quiet and has infrared, thermal, night, and regular imaging on it's camera. It's linked up to your sat and can tag objects. Once an object is tagged your sat will keep track of it as long as it's in view of the sat. Tag as many as you like. It can also tag to deliver a payload from a larger weaponized drone. I couldn't attach any weapons because of the weight. There is an explosive charge imbedded in case it falls into enemy hands. And the best part is it doesn't need fuel or an external power source. The rotors act as a perpetual motion engine. You have unlimited range with this."

"What's this speaker looking thing?" Barbara asked pointing to the top of the UAV.

"That actually is a speaker. When we field tested this birds kept attacking it. The speaker emits a sonic pitch to drive them away. It triggers automatically when infrared speakers detect the birds. The thing is smart, too. Plug in a waypoint and it will automatically go there and wait in a holding pattern. It avoids power lines, antennae, you name it. Fire and forget."

"This is perfect," Barbara said as she clicked on the specs and began memorizing them. "I'm more mobile than I thought I could be. How many of these do I have?"

"As many as you need. One more thing. I had the building declared an historical landmark because of the clock. I own the company that does the maintenance. You're covered on that now as well."

The building they were in was one of the oldest in Gotham. It had been built during the thirties and was topped off with a gigantic clock for the entire city to see. The Gotham Clocktower was the city's very own version of Big Ben.

"Ted, I really can't believe you did it. You'll get your money back with interest but I really can't thank you enough."

"Let me take you to dinner?" Ted asked.

The question surprised Barbara. She had known Ted for years and he had never shown any interest in her. He was also eleven years her senior. He knew everything about her, including the attack._ Why would he ask me out knowing about that?_

"Ted...I-"

"It's just dinner, Babs. To celebrate. Just dinner."

Barbara relented. She hadn't been out socially since the attack. All her time had been spent in physical therapy or studying. She had isolated herself too much for too long. It was time to rejoin the world.

"Dinner sounds great. I just have one request for here."

"Name it."

"I need a double parking space."

"Wow, all this and I forgot a simple parking space. Okay, done. I'll designate the two closest to the lobby for you."

"Nope. I want them to be as far away from the elevator as possible."

Ted smiled. _This chick is badass._


	3. Chapter 3 SOLO

3

**SOLO**

**BURBANK, CALIFORNIA**

"Ew Yeller, what did you eat?" Julie asked her dog as she used a plastic baggie to pick up her dog's feces. She threw the plastic bag into a trash can and continued her evening stroll down the Chandler Boulevard bike/walk path. She smiled at passers by, stopping to let other dogs on leashes greet her golden retriever.

She walked a half mile more down the path and right onto a wide residential street lined with houses. Julie and her husband loved Burbank. It was close to the city but with a distinct suburban feel, unlike many Los Angeles neighborhoods. She walked halfway down the block and walked up to the front door of her house. Julie walked in, took the leash off of Yeller and set it along with her keys on the entryway table.

"Honey," she called as she took off her jacket and hung it up. "Can we just order a pizza from Dino's tonight? I don't feel like making anything." She walked through the hallway towards the living room. "And I want one of those salads with the avocado on it and the green dressing." Silence. "Bob, you here?" She opened the back door and let Yeller into the back yard. After closing the door Julie walked into the office that both she and her husband shared and froze.

Her husband was sitting in a chair in the middle of the room, facing her. Behind him a large man stood holding a gun to Bob's temple. Julie immediately recognized the man.

"Anatoli..." Julie said.

"Doctor Dobryin," Anantoli replied in Russian.

"Are you here to kill us?" she asked, already knowing the answer.

"Of course. Bob and Julie Smith. Both geneticists at S.T.A.R. Labs. Two children. Two grandchildren. A house, two cars, and a dog. The all American family. Not even a hint of an accent."

"Please..." Julie pleaded. Her husband remained silent.

"You betrayed your country. Deserted her. Aided her enemy."

"I..."

"Did you know your husband is having an affair?" Anatoli asked. The statement shocked Julie. "With one of your lab assistants. Eight months now."

"No..."

"Yes," Anatoli stated coldly. "I can show you the emails if you like."

"Honey, I'm sorry," Bob said, breaking his silence. Husband and wife began to cry together.

"Give me the next name on the list," the Soviet assassin ordered.

"Why should I?" Julie asked as she began to sob. "Y-You're going to kill us anyway!"

"Yes, I will. However, if you do not cooperate with me I shall also kill your children and grandchildren. I will even kill the dog. And I will kill your cheating husband in front of you. Slowly. Painfully."

"It's three names," Doctor Smith told him. She gave him the names and American aliases of the other specialists from Project BEAST she had defected with from the Soviet Union so long ago.

"Very good. Thank you," Anatoli said. He spun her husband around in his chair and pushed him up to the computer desk with his laptop sitting on top. "Georgy, please compose an email to your mistress."

"Pardon me?" Greorgy/Bob asked, confused.

"Write an email to your mistress. Make it dirty, like the other ones."

Confused but thinking of his family the doctor began a graphic email to his lab assistant.

"Stop," Anatoli commanded after a few sentences. "Come here," he commanded Julie. Anatoli produced a large kitchen knife and held it in front of her. She recognized it as coming from her own kitchen. "Stand here," Anatoli said and placed her behind her husband while he still faced the computer. "Are you left or right handed?"

"R-r-right," Julie said as she began to sob harder. Her husband began to sob harder as well.

He placed the knife in her right hand and raised her arm over her head.

"Swing down as hard as you can and stab here," Anatoli instructed, indicating the solar plexus of her husband.

"I... I can't..." Julie said as she began crying even more.

"Then your family will die very painful deaths."

"It's okay, babe," her husband cried. "I'm so sorry. I love you so much."

"I'm s-s-s-sorry! I love you too..."

It was an open and shut case for the Burbank police. Julie Smith found out her husband was having an affair and stabbed him as he was emailing his lover. She then took an entire bottle of sleeping pills and ended her own life. The community was shocked and saddened.

**EAST END, GOTHAM CITY**

Batman was standing in the basement of an abandoned warehouse that had made knockoff brand name t-shirts. Wrappers and empty to-go cups from various fast food restaurants littered the dusty floor. There were four spots where sleeping bags had obviously been used. The dust was lighter in the four spots. There were multiple shoe prints around, some barely visible under a newer layer of dust. All except one set of fresh boot prints. Someone had been here just before he was. Batman collected the wrappers, crushed the cups, and placed them all into a protective pouch on his utility belt. He took out a specialized camera, activated the infrared scanner, and scanned all the prints.

The Batman was hunting Harvey Dent. Assistant District Attorney Dent had been Batman's first ally in the Gotham War on Crime. ADA Dent had fed the Batman classified and confidential information from the police and district attorney's office to help take down criminals, especially the Gotham mobster Salvatore Maroni.

After Moroni's arrest, Dent had been pressured by the mayor's office to give full immunity to the mobster in exchange for all his knowledge of the Gotham mafia. Harvey did so and the mobster spilled his guts. Nobody told Dent that the Assistant U.S. Attorney was still going after Moroni. The immunity didn't cover federal charges.

Out on bail after his federal indictment, an enraged Sal Moroni had Dent kidnapped and brought before him. Harvey Dent was chained down while Moroni personally sprayed half of his face with acid, permanently disfiguring him. When asked at his trial why he only disfigured half of Dent's face Moroni explained that Dent was a "two-faced bastard and the world should see him that way". The media locked onto the description and began simply calling Dent "Two Face". When asked why he didn't kill Dent, Moroni said it had been dumb luck that the Batman had shown up in time to save him.

One day Harvey simply disappeared. Two years later to the day of his attack, the mayor and AUSA disappeared. Harvey Dent had descended into madness and had kidnapped the men and put them on mock trial. They both faced charges of betraying Dent- of being two-faced. Both men were convicted of course. And Harvey decided their fate with the coin he had taken from Maroni and scarred. Good side and they were freed. Scarred side and they were executed. Dumb luck.

The Team arrived in time to save the mayor, but not the AUSA. In the ensuing fight with Dent and his men, Dent had nearly beaten Robin to death. It had been his first case in uniform. Dent had escaped because Batman chose to get Robin medical help instead of pursuing the madman. It had been four years and no trace of Dent had ever been found. Until now.

A patron at one of Gotham's seedier bars had drunkenly bragged that he had seen Two Face and three men coming out of an abandoned warehouse in the East End. Two weeks later the man was found with two bullet holes in the back of his head, execution style. The gun used was a .22. His wallet, cell phone, and watch were taken and so the police had initially just written it off as another robbery/homicide in Gotham.

The man had never specified which warehouse it was. So Batman had systematically been searching warehouses in the East End for nearly a month. He believed his meticulous searching might have just paid off. Obviously the men had been gone for a while, but it was the start of a trail.

Satisfied he had collected what evidence he could, Batman made his way to the alley behind the warehouse. He had parked the Batmobile on the very site his parents had been killed a few blocks away, the area known as Crime Alley. Batman walked to his car, scanning the back alleys for any clues as to where the man in the boots had gone. He came to within a block of the Batmobile and stopped short.

The front of the Batmobile's cockpit was forward and a man was leaning into the car. _How_ _did he get past the security systems? _Batman thought as he cautiously approached. The man was wearing a black motorcycle helmet, black t-shirt, leather jacket, and dark jeans with combat boots.

When he got to the mouth of the alley a bright white flash and loud boom went off next to the Batman. He raised his hands to shield his eyes but it was too late. Batman's night vision lenses had been down and he was now blinded from the bright light and his ears were ringing from the noise.

The man with the helmet turned and immediately charged at Batman. He delivered a vicious roundhouse to Batman's side, doubling him over. The man grabbed the ears of Batman's cowl and held them as he delivered a powerful knee to his nose. Batman collapsed to the ground, stunned and bleeding. He tried to stand but fell down again. The ringing in his ears was subsiding and he heard the sound of a powerful engine roar to life and tires squealing. The sound of the engine faded quickly.

"Batman to Eagle."

"Go for Eagle."

"Taurus Absent. Repeat, Taurus Absent."

"Copy Taurus Absent. Initiating protocol," Alfred replied from the cave. Batman had designed protocols for numerous situations. The words simply had to be entered into the computer system the Team used and the protocol response was activated. The designation for the Batmobile being lost or stolen was "Taurus Absent." The Batmobile would be remotely locked down and a drone would be fueled and launched and maintain a holding pattern over the GPS signal of the car.

"SITREP?"

"Someone just stole the Batmobile and I'm literally blind. Should be temporary. Flashbang went off with my night lenses down. Contact Panacea and give her my twenty. Tell her to bring a change."

"Contacting her now," Alfred said as he sent a text message to Dr. Leslie Thompkins.

Batman was literally around the corner from the Thomas and Martha Wayne Memorial Clinic. Leslie ran the clinic but didn't live in the East End. The Team had a satellite cave several blocks away, but the East End was dangerous and Batman couldn't risk engagement while his vision was impaired.

"Batman, be aware, no response on protocol," Eagle said.

"Malfunction?"

"Negative. It appears the entire system on the car was shut down and restarted."

"Task a sat on the area if you can. Keep me updated. Batman out."_ He's good_, Batman thought. He felt his way along the alley wall and made his way to a dumpster. Batman crawled in and waited for Leslie to pick him up.


	4. Chapter 4 ESCALATION

4

**ESCALATION**

**TWO WEEKS LATER**

**THE PLAZA HOTEL TERRACE ROOM**

**MANHATTAN**

Just beyond the French doors of the Plaza's famed Palm Court lies the Terrace Room, a setting rich with its own history and charm. Meticulously restored to its original grandeur, the Terrace Room boasts some of the most impressive historical detailing within the Plaza. Figural paintings created in the spirit of the Italian Renaissance adorn the ceiling. The original crystal chandeliers were made by Charles Winston (brother of jeweler Harry), copies of those that hung in the Palace of Versailles. The room was striking and elegant, considered a jewel of The Plaza Hotel.

The room was being used to hold the annual conference for the top one hundred sellers of Masque beauty products for men. Masque used the direct-to-consumer dual marketing system made famous by Mary Kay Cosmetics. In nineteen ninety an entrepreneur named John Coker was among the first to notice the trend of more demand for men's grooming products. The result was Masque. For the first decade the company did relatively well, especially in major metropolitan areas. After the metrosexual fad hit in the 2000's the company exponentially increased. Masque now did over a half billion dollars every fiscal year.

Much of that money came from three friends who had defected to the United States from the Soviet Union with help from the CIA. Along with the rest of the defectors they had done what the American government had asked of them, and then were released to find their fame and fortune in America. They found it.

The trio used their ties to the old country to sell their products to immigrants from Russia and all the former Soviet satellites. They cornered the market and became rich men. Now they were being honored for their success.

John Coker himself was presenting them with an award for their achievement. He called the three men up, shook each of their hands, and gave them an etched crystal plaque to display in their office.

Watching from the back, Anatoli felt sickened by the opulent display of greed. These men, like the others, had turned their back on everything they had stood for. They had been seduced by western culture and it's trinkets and baubles. Communism had been vilified by America while it's own people lied, stole, raped and murdered each other. All for more money. They cared nothing for their fellow man. The only thing that was important was what they could take from him. Sociopaths!

Anatoli wished he could personally put a bullet in all three of their heads. But all three dying at once would be suspicious. Getting all three in a room at once and rigging an accident had proven too hard logistically. He had wanted to arrange for a car wreck in their expensive vehicles but he needed to get the next name from one of them first. Anatoli was fortunate that all three were in the room together. It was time.

He was standing next to the open bar that the hotel had provided. Four out of the five bartenders had taken their break while the awards and speeches were being made. Anatoli looked around to make sure no one was looking in his direction. Satisfied, he intentionally dropped the glass of scotch he was holding, letting it shatter on the ground.

"Sorry," he said to the bartender. "I'll clean it up."

"I'll take care of it, sir," the bartender replied. "Please, I don't want you to cut yourself."

He went around to the other side of the bar and bent down to pick up the broken glass. As soon as he bent over Anatoli bent down and wrapped his right arm around the man's neck. He wrapped his left forearm around his right and squeezed. The bartender passed out within seconds. Anatoli dragged the man behind the bar and laid him down. He turned to the display of liquor behind him, grabbed onto the highest shelf, and violently jerked, bringing the entire shelf and the ones below it crashing to the ground. Bottles shattered and alcohol covered the bar and floor. Guests turned to see the commotion as Anatoli casually grabbed a candle from the top of the bar and tossed it onto the ground. He jumped back over the bar as flames erupted. The guest started to scream as the decorations from the event began to catch flame. Anatoli raced into the middle of the panicked crowd.

The bar was along the wall that led to the rest of the hotel so naturally they ran for the fire exits. Anatoli had made sure they were locked before the conference started. The room was quickly filling with smoke and Anatoli placed the mask from his miniature oxygen tank on. He had kept an eye on the three men and punched and kicked his way through the crowd as they bunched up towards the exit, screaming to get out. He found the target farthest from the exit and grabbed him from behind, pulling him away from the crowd.

"Help me!" the man screamed as he choked on the thick smoke. He had been on the phone with 911 when he was grabbed and dropped his cell phone. Anatoli threw him to the ground and pinned him down. Anatoli placed the oxygen mask on the terrified man for three seconds and removed it.

"I will give you more oxygen when you tell me what I want to know."

The man stared wide eyed at Anatoli, recognizing him immediately. He nodded his head vigorously.

"Who is the next contact from Project BEAST?" he asked. He placed the mask back on the man and let him breathe.

"Bob! Robert Beals! He lives in Gotham City!"

Anatoli removed the oxygen mask and stood up.

"Please! Get me out of here!" the man pleaded. Anatoli raised his foot up and brought it down as hard as he could on the man's throat. He raised it again and stomped on his chest and arms. It would look like the man had been trampled to death.

Anatoli ran to the exit, stepping over bodies of people who had already died from smoke inhalation or trampling. He smashed his body as hard as he could into the door, knocking it down. The remaining crowd ran out with him. He simply walked away in the confusion and hysteria. Investigators concluded the bartender had accidentally broken the shelf when reaching for a bottle. Ninety eight people died in the fire.

**GOTHAM CITY**

Jose Mendez lowered the front loader on his Mack MRU613 garbage truck and aligned with the dumpster in front of him. His partner Bobby sat in the passenger seat smoking his third cigarette of the morning. Jose loved the early morning shift, Bobby hated it.

Jose knew that residents hated trash day because of the early hour. He imagined he woke up at least ten people with every pickup. That was fine with him. Most people treated the garbage man like, well, garbage. Most had no clue he probably made more than they did and had a pretty comfortable life. It was one of the better paying jobs in the city.

Jose started to lift the dumpster and hit the stop button when it got to eye level with his cab. _Oh, shit... _There was a hand sticking out of the lid.

"Bobby!" he exclaimed as he pointed. "Bobby, look!"

An hour later the police were swarming the scene. Jose and Bobby spent a few minutes talking to the two detectives. No, they didn't notice the hand before they started to lift the dumpster. No, they didn't notice or see anyone suspicious. Yes, this was their normal route and normal time for pickup. The detectives thanked them for their time and walked away. Jose wished they had asked a few more questions. He thought the white guy's partner, the Hispanic lady, was pretty cute.

"Well?" Detective Ed Ryan asked his junior partner.

"COD looks to be multiple stab wounds to the abdomen. She looks in her mid to late twenties," Detective Sergeant Montoya replied. "No decomp, wearing running gear, no ID. I'd say she was killed this morning, probably while out on a morning jog. No ring, no tan line from a ring. We'll see if we can get a warrant for her LUDs and check her phone. Speaking of, she doesn't have her cell on her. Doubt she'd go running without it. Probably standard RobHom. We need to check the vagrants, see if it turns up. Maybe the murder weapon too."

"Sounds about right," Ed concurred. "Good job, Renee."

**The Cave**

Bruce Wayne finished his daily stretching, hand-to-hand exercises, and strength training. He went over to one of the Cave treadmills and finished his workout with twenty minutes of interval training. Sweaty and exhausted, he went to the Cave's locker room and took a shower. He got out ten minutes later, toweled off, and threw on his standard black running pants and dark grey t-shirt. He walked out of the shower room and towards the computer hub. Alfred was waiting with a recovery shake.

"Thanks," Bruce said as he took it. He sat down in front of the main monitor and pulled up the online version of Gotham's news stations. From there he spent the next two hours speed reading local, state, national, and international stories from all the major news organizations as well as Gotham Police reports.

A message flashed on his screen. He had an email. Bruce opened the inbox. _Unknown_ _sender? Not possible. _Less than ten people on the planet knew of the Team's email system. All had been verified and registered. Emails supposedly couldn't even come through without verification.

"Alfred, come see this," Bruce shouted. Alfred came over from the armory where he had been doing a weapons check. "Look," Bruce said. "Someone sent a file over. Unknown sender."

"I didn't know that was possible."

"It's not supposed to be," Bruce replied.

"Cyber attack?"

"That's my first thought." He sat back in his chair and thought for a minute. "Grab a tablet. Do a full scrub and transfer the file to the tablet. We'll open it on that."

Alfred left to follow his orders. Ten minutes later he brought an iPad to Bruce.

"Okay, let's see what this is about," Bruce said. He opened the file.

The first thing he saw was a story from CNN about a man in Simi Valley, California who had drugged, shot, and killed his entire family before turning the gun on himself. Bruce and Alfred both remembered the story. It was followed by the police reports from the crime.

The second was a local news story about a woman from Burbank, California who had killed her cheating husband. Again a police report accompanied the story.

The third was another news story from CNN. This story had made international headlines. Ninety eight people had died in a fire at the famous Plaza Hotel in New York City. The fire had been ruled accidental. Police reports accompanied this as well. There also were two audio files attached. It had come from a 911 call from the cell phone of one of the victims of the fire. Bruce played it. All he and Alfred heard was garbled speech and loud screams.

"Why send you an unintelligible mess?" Alfred asked.

"Don't know." Bruce played the second file.

Initially it sounded the same as the first. Then the volume on the screams lowered and what had been garbled speech before became clearer. Two voices were on the tape.

_Help me!_

_I will give you more oxygen when you tell me what I want to know. A second of silence. Who is the next contact from Project BEAST?_

_Bob! Robert Beals! He lives in Gotham City!_

The audio file ended. The last item in the message was a file on a Robert L. Beals who lived in Gotham. Financial records, address, phone numbers, place of employment, traffic tickets, bills, Facebook account, and email were all included. Bruce set the tablet down and turned to Alfred.

"Thoughts?" Bruce asked.

"I don't know what to make of it. It might be a challenge. It might be a plea for help. It might be bait for the Batman. The fire and other deaths are connected. Probably to cover up the true objective. We might be looking at an accomplished assassin."

"I agree. Could be any of those. Whoever sent this has good resources. And the technical know how to send it to me unauthorized. It's obvious they want the Batman's involvement."

"What do you want to do, sir?"

"Task whatever sats you can on his office and home. Prep a standard surveillance and observation kit for civilian clothing. I'll use one of the satellite caves if I need to change to Batman. I'll review all the files and leave when the loadout is ready."


	5. Chapter 5 WATCH

5

**WATCH**

"Thanks, Jenni," Bobby Beals said as he paid for his morning venti latte. He stuck a dollar in the tip jar and went to wait to pick up his drink.

"Bye, Bobby," Jenni said with a smile. "See ya tomorrow!"

A few minutes later Bobby grabbed his drink and exited the Starbucks he came to every morning on his way to work. He saw an older man with a goatee wearing a Dallas Cowboys ball cap and hoodie approaching the entrance and held the door open for him. The oblivious man was texting on his cell phone and ran right into Bobby, nearly spilling his drink.

"Oh, shit!" the older man exclaimed in a slight Texas accent. "I am so sorry, son. I'm worthless until I get my coffee."

Bobby laughed it off. "Not a problem," he replied. "Didn't spill a drop. Cowboys, huh?"

"All my life," the man replied with a smile.

"We're gonna kill you guys on Sunday," Bobby said light heartedly.

"Not a chance!" the man said. The men laughed together. "Have a good one. Sorry again."

"You too. Take care." Bobby let the door shut and continued his walk to work.

The Dallas Cowboys fan got in line, bought a blueberry muffin and venti coffee and exited the Starbucks. He walked the opposite direction Bobby had come from, going toward Bobby's apartment. The man pulled out his smartphone and opened an app. He looked at the map display and saw an icon slowly and steadily moving. The icon represented Bobby Beals. The man had slipped a small tracker into the outer pocket of Bobby's trench coat when he ran into him.

The man walked another half mile and ducked into an alley. He took off the hoodie and cap, revealing a light tan jacket underneath. He peeled off the fake goatee and threw it into the dumpster next to him. The man removed a short man's black wig and placed it on his head. He removed a pair of fake glasses from his pocket and put them on.

The man went out the opposite end of the alley. When he turned the corner he crouched down to a disheveled homeless woman with a sign asking for change.

"Here ya go," the man said. He handed the woman the hoodie, cap, muffin and coffee.

"Good bless you!" the woman cried in delight. This would be the highlight of her day.

The man walked away without responding. He continued walking through the city streets until he got within a block of Bobby's apartment. The entire time he was walking he kept an eye on the location of the tracker. It had eventually disappeared, which he expected to happen when Bobby went into his office building. Because the tracker was so small it had a weak signal and had to be outside to work properly. The man saw a slightly pudgy blond man come out of a bodega as he walked closer. The blond man nodded and walked up to the Cowboys fan.

"Up and running," the Cowboys fan said in a Gotham accent. "Lost the signal at his office."

"I'll be back in fifteen," the blond man said. He crossed the street to Bobby's apartment building and went inside. The Cowboys fan stayed across the street. He took a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and lit one, keeping an eye on the entrance.

Alfred and Bruce had been watching Bobby Beals for three days now, building a pattern of life. Beals had left his apartment around the same time each morning, went to the same Starbucks, and went to his office. He worked less than a mile from his apartment and came home every day for lunch and a power nap. They had waited for three days before trying to bug his apartment. They watched for patterns of people traffic in and out of his building. Bruce didn't want a maid or Bobby's girlfriend dropping by unexpectedly while he was bugging the place. Finding out Bobby came home every day at one had potentially prevented disaster.

Bruce walked into the lobby and to the secured double glass doors that led to the elevators to the apartments. He punched in the security code he had hacked from Bobby's email and walked through the doors. He exited on Bobby's floor and walked up to his apartment door. Bruce removed a matte black metal cylinder the size of a roll of quarters from his pocket. It was a lock picking device he had invented himself. Standard lock picks or lock picking guns took too long and were too loud. They also left scratches on the inside of locks that police would discover during an investigation. Bruce unscrewed the top off the cylinder and placed the opening over the keyhole on Bobby's door. He pushed a button on the side of the cylinder. A strong battery immediately heated a filament which in turn heated a putty-like substance filling the cylinder. The putty expanded quickly out of the tube opening and into the keyhole. It quickly filled the lock, pushing the tumblers into place. The lock clicked open. The entire process took eight seconds. Bruce turned the knob and opened the door.

He stepped into Bobby's place and surveyed the apartment. Standard bachelor's place. A little messy. A Gotham Rogues pennant over the T.V. Bruce looked around for a good spot to place his first audio transmitter. Vents, faucets, and electronic devices such as televisions, speakers, and appliances had to be avoided because of noise interference. The bugs he placed in vents would only provide video. He had to rely on the other bugs for sound. Light fixtures and furniture were ideal spots. Bruce placed his first bug under the coffee table in Bobby's living room. Alfred's fake Gotham accent came over his earpiece.

"Ben, be advised. BALDY is on his way up. Repeat: BALDY is on his way up."

"Copy, Tom. Movement on the tracker?"

"Negative, he just went into the lobby. He's not wearing his jacket. He's moving at a pretty quick pace. He probably forgot something at home. You have about sixty seconds."

"Acknowledged," Bruce said, frustrated. This would be so much easier if Dick and Barbara were helping. The absence of his partners had multiplied the difficulty of operations the past six months.

Bruce looked quickly around the apartment to see what Bobby might have left. He didn't want to hide in a closet or under the bed if the very object Bobby was after might be there. He saw a plastic storage tube for documents lying on the desk in the corner of the living room. _Beals is an engineer. The tube likely contains blueprints. He was carrying the tube last night when he came home_. Bruce heard footsteps outside the door. He quickly and quietly made his way to the nearby bathroom, saw the shower curtain was drawn, and laid down inside the bathtub out of sight.

Bruce heard the door open and shut. He heard footsteps quickly walk across the the apartment to where the storage tube was. More footsteps. Footsteps into the bathroom. The sound of a belt being unbuckled and a zipper being undone. Bobby Beals began urinating eighteen inches away from Bruce. Beals was completely oblivious to the man behind the shower curtain. Bruce heard him stop, flush the toilet, and pull his pants back up. He walked out of the bathroom and out the front door, taking the storage tube with him.

"He's gone," Bruce/Ben said after a minute of silence.

Alfred/Tom chuckled over the earpiece. "I heard everything, sir," Alfred said. "Except the man washing his hands."

"He didn't."

"Barbarian."

"I'm just glad he only had to pee."

"He just exited the lobby."

"Copy. I'll finish and be out in five mikes."

Bruce Wayne finished planting the rest of his bugs and left the apartment.

Anatoli lowered his binoculars and frowned. He was in a hotel room across the street from Beal's apartment. He had just heard "Ben's" side of the conversation thanks to a laser microphone he had set up and aimed at Bobby's living room bathroom windows. The laser microphone measured the vibrations on the windows created by sounds within the room. The receiver then translated them into audio files.

_Who are Ben and his partner?_ he wondered._ Have I or the list been compromised? We're on U.S. soil so they can't be CIA. FBI? Gotham Police?_

Their presence had completely altered his plans. It was possible their investigation was completely unrelated to his mission, but he didn't want to take the chance. He had to kill Beals and get the list from him before he could be interrogated.

_Tonight. It has to be tonight._


	6. Chapter 6 TRUE LOVE

6

**TRUE LOVE**

**THAT EVENING**

Bruce/Ben and Alfred/Tom rented a room across the street in the same hotel that Anatoli Knyazev was staying in. Knyazev had watched them walk into his hotel from his window. He had originally thought they were coming for him and quickly screwed the silencers onto both of his Sig Sauer pistols. He waited patiently for them to breach the door, fully prepared for a flash bang or some other device to come through a crashed door. After a full two hours of waiting he decided the attack wasn't coming. Anatoli deduced the duo must be setting up their own surveillance hub inside the hotel.

With Beal's apartment bugged and two unknown operatives watching him Anatoli decided that he couldn't interrogate and kill Beals in his own apartment. The operatives were obviously trained. If Anatoli tried to tail Beals he was sure he would be spotted by the operatives. He had no doubt of his ability to kill them, but being able to kill both and then capture, interrogate and kill Beals without alerting authorities would prove nearly impossible. What he needed was to separate the target from his surveillance.

Alfred sat at a desk in the hotel room watching the three monitors they had set up for surveillance. One monitor was displaying a split screen of images from the bedroom and living room of Beals apartment. The second monitor showed instantaneous readout of all words the audio bugs picked up. The third monitor remotely connected Alfred to the Cave computer systems. From the hotel room he could automatically launch a drone and man it. It was a cloudy night and satellite imagery would be useless. That wasn't the only problem. If Alfred launched a drone he would be tied up with only that and couldn't participate in an actual tail of Beals in case he left his apartment. If Beals decided to use public transportation and take the subway he needed to be kept in sight at all times. Bruce could theoretically do it alone, but he needed Alfred to do a Surveillance Detection Routine in case Beals was being followed by the assassin. It would be very difficult for Bruce to tail Beals and check to see if Beals was being followed all while checking to see if he was being followed himself. He had to do it all without being spotted by Beals. But difficult was not impossible and Bruce Wayne routinely did what others said was impossible. Still, it significantly increased the danger of exposure of both himself and the operation. He had started out as the Batman with only Alfred to help. He had been effective. But the addition of Batgirl and Robin significantly increased his effectiveness.

Bruce thought of all this as he stood in the room staring out the window. He was watching the entrance to Beal's building, memorizing the faces that came and went. Bruce was wearing his Batman uniform, but without the cowl, cape, and gauntlets. He wore oversized jeans and gray hoodie over the uniform and had a trench coat on over that. The cape, cowl, and gauntlets were in a backpack on the bed. The civilian clothes over the uniform allowed him to trail Beals but change to Batman relatively quickly. They were bulky and hindered his movements but it accomplished the purpose.

Bruce's internal clock pinged in his head. It had been four hours since he had eaten. He and Alfred had only bought enough fresh healthy food for three days in their coolers. They were going to have to restock in order to continue surveillance. There were plenty of fast food restaurants nearby, but he needed good fuel for his body and mind.

"Alfred, time for me to eat," Bruce said. He wasn't worried about eavesdropping because he and Alfred had swept the room for bugs and had activated a counter surveillance sound device in case anyone was using a laser microphone.

"I'll head to the market on the corner and grab supplies," Alfred responded in his true British accent.

"No, that'll take too much time. I'd rather you do that when Beals is at work. There's a Robek's two blocks west. I want kale, carrots, beets, bananas. Extra large. I'll take watch while you're gone."

"Very good, sir," Alfred said as he stood up. He stretched, grabbed his wallet with false driver's license, credit cards, and cash and headed out the door.

Alfred walked down the hallway to the elevator and pushed the down button. The door eventually opened. There was already another man inside the elevator, also on his way down. Alfred stepped in and nodded to the rather large man and saw that the button for the lobby had already been pushed. He turned around as the doors closed.

_The other man! _Anatoli thought, completely taken off guard. He subtly sized Alfred up, trying to see if he was wearing a radio or carrying a weapon._ Did he expect me to be in the elevator? He didn't seem surprised to see me or on edge in any way. Just a coincidence? If he or his mystery employers knew who I was surely they wouldn't let him get on an elevator with me. No,_ he decided. _They do not know me._ He wasn't sure, but he was confident enough that he decided to alter his plan yet again. _Eliminate this problem now so it doesn't become a larger problem tonight._ He knew he couldn't kill the man here in the elevator. It wouldn't be helpful if he got to the lobby and the elevator doors opened up with him and a dead body in it.

The elevator arrived at the lobby and opened up. Alfred walked out and toward the entrance followed by Anatoli. As Anatoli walked he pretended to feel a vibration in his pocket and pulled out a cell phone.

"Hello?" he said to no one on the other end of the line. "Hey, Rich! How ya doin' buddy?"

Anatoli waited as Alfred exited the front entrance of the hotel and headed west. He put his phone into his pocket and followed.

_Too many people_, Anatoli thought as he watched Alfred. Anatoli was less than twenty yards behind him, yet there was a throng of people on the street. It wasn't nine pm yet and businesses and shops were still open. Anatoli followed Alfred for two blocks and saw him enter a Robek's._ He must be getting food for Ben and himself. Too many people here, too many on the way back._ He decided to stick to his original plan and continued past the Robek's.

He walked another four blocks until he found a bodega that advertised prepaid cell phones. Anatoli entered the store and purchased a phone using cash. He exited the store, removed the phone from it's package and activated it. After that he walked another block until he found a candle store. He entered and picked out a large vanilla scented candle.

"Do you do gift wrapping?" he asked the woman who rang him up.

"Sure do, box and all," she responded with a smile.

"That would be perfect, thank you."

He exited the store, and continued walking. Anatoli carefully opened the gift box and removed the candle, tossing it in a trash bin as he passed. He put the cell phone in the box and closed it. He continued on to his final stop.

Anatoli stopped outside of a bicycle messaging service. He watched various messengers arrive and depart, looking for a specific type. _There. Bleached blonde hair, long goatee. Huge earrings in his lobes. Artistic type. Perfect._

"Hey!" Anatoli said as the man mounted his bike. "Wait! I need you to deliver a package for me."

"Sorry, dude. Ya gotta go in and drop it off or call or go online. I can't just take a package," the bike messenger said, obviously annoyed.

"Look man, they want me to use my credit card. I can't, my wife will find out."

"That's fucked up, dude," the messenger replied.

"It's not for a girlfriend... it's for my boyfriend," Anatoli falsely confessed. "I know it's fucked up and I'm trapped. Please. I love him." Anatoli held up a hundred dollar bill.

_Poor guy probably had to play tough and be in the closet his whole life_, the messenger thought._ Dude is obviously desperate. _He reached out and grabbed the bill.

"Thanks, man! Thank you so much!" Anatoli said. "His name's Bobby. Thanks so much."

"Sure thing, man. I'm sure it's tough. True love, right?"

"I want to be with him until the very end. True love!" He gave the messenger the address and watched him ride away.

Alfred returned to the hotel room and handed the smoothie to Bruce.

"Thank you," Bruce said. He got up from the desk and went over to the window again. "Nothing interesting while you were gone. He ate a frozen dinner, keeps flipping back and forth between CNN and SportsCenter. Keeps ignoring texts from his girlfriend." It was an average stakeout. Dull. Boring.

Alfred sat down at the desk and continued to monitor the video and audio feeds. After five minutes Beals turned off the t.v. and walked over to his desk. He pulled his laptop out of his messenger bag and sat it on the desk. He opened up the computer and began typing something into the search engine. Everything he did on his computer showed up on the second monitor in the hub.

"Sir, you better come see this," Alfred called. He's typing something Russian into Google.

Bruce had just watched a bike messenger enter the front lobby of Beal's building. He turned around and walked over to the monitor and looked.

"Heh, apparently he misses the motherland," Bruce said dryly. Bruce was fluent in Russian, Alfred was not.

"I don't follow," Alfred replied, confused. He watched as Beals clicked on a link. Immediately multiple images of Russian women engaged in various sexual acts came onscreen. "Ah," Alfred said. "Well he most certainly better wash his hands after this."

Beals unbuttoned his jeans and started to lower his zipper as he clicked on different pages of videos. He was stopped by a knocking at the door.

"What?" Beals yelled. _Who the fuck would be knocking right now? _He hoped it wasn't his girlfriend. He just wanted a peaceful night of no fighting. Ignoring her texts hadn't helped.

"Got a package delivery!" he heard through the door.

Alfred and Bruce tensed up. "This could be the assassin," Bruce said as he began to fully change into the Batman.

_Fuck! _Bobby buttoned his pants and zipped up on his way to his front door. He opened the door and saw the messenger there.

"Here ya go, man" the messenger said as he handed Bobby the wrapped present.

"What do I owe you?," Bobby asked. He looked at the present utterly confused.

"No charge, dude. True love, right?"

"Yeah, I guess. Thanks," Bobby said as he shut the door.

"Stand down," Alfred said to Batman. "The messenger left." They both doubted that the package would be a bomb. It didn't fit the assassins M.O.

Bruce had everything on but his right gauntlet and cowl. He stopped, removed his cape and right gauntlet and picked his smoothie back up, watching Beals on the monitors.

Beals looked the package over. It didn't say who it was from, but he assumed his girlfriend. They had only been going out six weeks so far. It was weird for her to have a present delivered. He shrugged and opened the package.

Inside was a cell phone that was already powered up. He saw that there was already a text message waiting for him.

_Dimitri. Your life is in danger. Meet me ASAP. Check the GPS. Do not wear the tan jacket._

"What the fuck?" Bobby aka Dimitri said out loud.

Alfred and Bruce watched, unable to see what the text message said. Beals looked down at the phone as another text message came in.

_Blend in with the crowd and you will be safe. Hurry._

"What the fuck," Beals repeated. "What crowd?"

The fire alarm on Beal's building suddenly activated. A loud ringing and flashing lights began going off in the hallways. Bobby quickly left his apartment. His neighbors began coming out too. They avoided the elevators and made their way to the stairs.

"He's making his move. The assassin knows it will be harder to track him in a panicked crowd. He knows we're here," Bruce said. He quickly stuffed the gauntlet and cape into his backpack. Bruce grabbed the trench coat and put it on, tying the belt snugly. "Put your earpiece in. We go down together. Watch for a hostile. I'll take the west side of the crowd, you take the east. Work our way towards each other. If you see Beals or a potential hostile do not engage."

"Got it," Alfred said as he handed Bruce a small earpiece.

They both put in their earpieces and ran downstairs and exited the hotel. There was already a crowd forming outside. The sound of fire engines was drawing closer. Alfred walked to the east side of the crowd and began scanning faces. Families in various states of undress all huddled with each other, many on their cell phones. There were at least a hundred people outside by now. Bruce went to the west edge of the crowd and began looking for Beals or the assassin. There were too many people.

"No joy," Alfred said over the comm system.

"Me either," Bruce replied. "We lost him."

"_Beals is heading north in the alley west of the building_," a computerized female voice said over the comm system.

Bruce froze. Someone had hacked into his secure comm system. The same person who sent the file?

"What do you want? Who are you?" Bruce asked in an angry tone.

"_I want to save Robert Beal's life. Suit up. I know where he's going. Hurry,_" the digitized voice replied.

_She knows I'm Batman?_

"Who are you?" he repeated through clenched teeth.

_"I am the Oracle."_


	7. Chapter 7 IMPACT

7

**IMPACT**

"Tom, head back to the room," Bruce said as he ran. "Launch a drone and keep it on me. When it's bingo on fuel, bring it back and launch another. Stay on me until we're done."

"Acknowledged, sir," Alfred said as he quickly made his way to the hotel.

_"The drone is unnecessary_," Oracle said to both._ "I will maintain visual contact with Beals. Eagle can scrub the hotel room and return to the Cave."_

_She knows everything,_ Bruce thought. He didn't like having his orders countermanded, but she was right. It was an overlapping of resources. The hotel room needed to be scrubbed and vacated as soon as possible. If this "Oracle" was an enemy she could burn him either way. He decided to trust her. In for a penny, in for a pound, as Alfred would say.

"Do what she says," Bruce ordered.

"Acknowledged sir," Alfred replied. He immediately began breaking down the equipment and packing.

Oracle. Oracle. Bruce kept repeating the word in his head as he ran down the street. Something was nagging at his mind, he just couldn't quite place it. He quickly arrived at the alley he was racing to and went in. He walked halfway down and went to a stairway leading to a basement apartment. Bruce punched in a code on the keypad lock and went inside. He ran to the bathroom of the apartment and up to the mirror. He put his palm on the mirror and spoke.

"Bravo Alpha Whiskey zero five one nine three eight."

Ten seconds passed before Bruce heard a slight click come from the bathtub. He walked over and pulled it four feet away from the wall. A section of the floor dropped on hidden hinges, revealing a ladder. He climbed down into the tunnels that ran underneath Gotham.

Oracle had given him the address where Beals was going. It was a warehouse in the Tricorner yards a few miles away. Beals was already on the subway and had a head start. Bruce might be able to beat him there if he used the tunnels. He quickly removed his jeans and began running. As he ran he tossed his hoodie and took his cowl and gauntlets out of the backpack and put them on. He had run less than two blocks when he reached one of the many four wheel ATVs the Team used throughout the tunnels. Batman attached his cape to his cowl and mounted the ATV.

"Oracle, do you have eyes on Beals yet?"

_"He's just exited the platform and making his way topside... he just hailed a cab. He's going to beat you there."_

Batman started the ATV and began riding toward the warehouse.

Beals paid his cab and got out. He looked at the the warehouse, unsure of what to do. Obviously his life was in danger. His past had caught up with him. And it seemed that someone wanted to help him. He didn't know if it was one of his contacts. Three others from Project BEAST also lived in Gotham. They had remained friends after coming to America and saw each other regularly. Are _their lives in danger too? _he wondered.

Bobby walked through the gate of the chain link fence of the property and walked twenty yards to a side door. He tentatively knocked on the door. No answer.

"Hello?" he asked as he stepped into the dark warehouse. He was immediately grabbed by the wrist and thrown ten feet across the floor. The lights of the warehouse came on. Beals looked at his assailant. It was a large man in black cargo pants, a dark blue t-shirt and a black windbreaker. He was wearing a black balaclava that showed only his eyes. Two distinct red blade designs ran down each side of the face. Beals immediately recognized his attacker. "Beast!"

"Yes, you loved calling me that, didn't you?" Anatoli Knyazev aka the Beast said. He walked over to Beals, leaned down and backhanded him across the face. Beals screamed as blood began to flow from his split lip. "I don't have much time. Tell me the next name on the list. Now." The Beast produced a Permyak knife from his cargo pants. Beals looked at the knife, terrified. He knew what Knyazev could do. But he couldn't betray his friend.

"Fuck you," he said in Russian.

The Beast grabbed Beals by the right wrist and lifted him off the ground with one arm. Anatoli quickly and expertly sliced Beals from the bottom of his armpit all the way past his ribs and to his hip. Beals screamed in agony.

"The name. Or there is much more pain to come."

The Beast heard a metallic clink on the ground. He quickly dropped Beals and closed his eyes and covered his ears with his hands. Still, he saw the bright flash of light through his eyelids and heard the deafening rumble as the flash bang went off. The Beast immediately rolled to his right.

Batman missed his kick as the assassin quickly rolled to his right. _He's quick. Six five,_ _white male, well muscled._ _Good training._ He grabbed two batarangs from his belt and threw them at the assassin. The assassin caught one in each hand and immediately threw them back at him. Batman raised his gauntlets and blocked them but couldn't move out of the way in time to avoid a flying kick from the assassin.

Batman's head snapped back and he fell to the ground dazed. The assassin was immediately on top of him and delivered five viscous blows to Batman's head. Batman stopped moving. Blood poured out of his mouth and nose.

The Beast spun around and went up to Beals. "Did you see how quickly I defeated him? Now I have all the time in the world." He found his knife on the dirty floor and picked it up. Beals cowered.

Ten minutes later Anatoli had the name he came for. Beals lay on the floor dead, surrounded by a pool of his own blood. The Beast walked over to the Batman and looked down. He was still breathing, but small, shallow breaths. The Beast pulled one of his Sig Sauers out from his waistband and pointed it at Batman's head.

There was a loud bang and the Beast stumbled back and fell to the ground. He had been shot, but the Kevlar vest he was wearing took the brunt of the impact. Bullets started hitting the ground around him. He rolled away and came up returning fire through the door the shots had come from. He emptied his clip and went to reload. A man wearing a black t-shirt, jeans, combat boots and motorcycle helmet stepped through the open door. He was aiming a Glock at the Beast.

"Get the fuck back!" the man in the helmet said.

_Sounds young?_ the Beast thought. Good. "I surrender," he said and dropped his gun.

"Yeah, right," the man said and began firing.

The Beast ducked under the volley of fire and rolled forward as the man emptied his clip.

"Oh, shit," he said as the Beast came up and uppercut to his helmet. The man dodged, but the powerful blow still grazed him, knocking him off balance. He stumbled back as the Beast sent a roundhouse to his thigh. The man fell to his knees as the Beast punched him in the directly in the helmet, shattering the tinted face mask. The man fell onto his back and the Beast was immediately on top of him, raining blows down on his helmet.

The man felt his right hand touch something on the ground. He grabbed what he thought was a knife and plunged it into the Beast's left eye. Anatoli screamed and fell backwards. The man stood up, pulled the pin on a flash bang, dropped it on the Beast and ran. The Beast closed his uninjured eye in time but didn't protect his ears. The explosion was deafening. He could now hear nothing but a high pitched ringing. The Beast stood up and pulled the batarang from his eye and looked around. The man was running out the door. The Beast stumbled out after him.

Anatoli exited the warehouse and looked around. He was in excruciating pain from his wound. He knew that his left eye was destroyed. He was going to kill the man in black slowly. The Beast walked to the street and looked around, trying to figure out where the man went. He never saw or heard the Batmobile as it plowed into him at 32 miles per hour. The Beast was thrown up onto the hood and rolled up over the cockpit and landed on the ground behind the car. He didn't get up.

The man in black drove the Batmobile up to the entrance to the warehouse. He opened the cockpit and got out. He was still disoriented from the attack and limping from the kick to his thigh. The man went back into the warehouse and grabbed Batman by the arms. He dragged him to the Batmobile and put him in the passenger seat. The man got into the driver's seat, closed the cockpit and drove away.

The man pulled into an alley a mile away from the warehouse. He looked over at the Batman. His cowl was cracked and the man could see that the lenses were knocked out of place. The man carefully took the heavily damaged cowl off._ Holy shit. Batman is Bruce Wayne?_

He pushed a button on the dashboard and activated the comm systems.

"Hello?" he said. "Is anyone there? I need help! He's really hurt."

_"I can't get the car to go to autodrive,"_ Oracle replied.

"Yeah, I disabled that part," the man said. "Sorry. Look, I have to get him to a hospital."

_"No, follow my directions. Are you injured?"_

"A little, kinda dizzy. I can drive."

_"I'll tell you where to go. What is your name?"_

"Jason. My name's Jason."


	8. Chapter 8 DESPERATION

8

**DESPERATION**

Jason followed Oracle's directions and drove the Batmobile two miles to another warehouse in the Tricorner Yards. As the car approached a massive door on the loading dock opened. Jason drove into the warehouse slowly. He saw a section of the floor lower down below the rest of the floor. Jason drove down the ramp and ended up in the tunnels.

"Whoa..." he said as he looked around. "Have these always been here?"

_"Turn left,"_ Oracle replied, ignoring his question.

Jason did as he was told. He continued driving along, amazed at what he saw. The tunnels were obviously very old, yet modern track lighting hung from the ceiling. As he drove on he eventually passed an old subway platform with benches. It was dark and covered in a century's worth of dust. _This is the old_ _subway_ _system_, he realized. _They_ _told us in school this was destroyed in the quake_. Jason noticed he kept passing ATVs and even another Batmobile parked on a platform._ So this is how he gets around and never gets caught..._

Dr. Leslie Thompkins picked up her customized cell phone on the first ring. It was the ringtone that she hated. The one that meant Batman needed help.

"Alfred?" she said as she answered.

"Mister Wayne has been saying he would love to see you as soon as possible," Alfred said.

"I'm on my way," she replied. Dammit, Bruce. How bad this time?

Alfred hung up with Leslie and walked to the Cave's infirmary. A month after Dick left Gotham Bruce decided to move out of the penthouse and back to his ancestral home. He said he preferred Wayne Manor and the original Cave to the penthouse and the Bunker and satellite caves. Alfred believed it was because the penthouse and Bunker seemed very lonely without his protégés around. At least he had gotten used to the loneliness at the mansion.

Alfred began laying out the standard medical supplies he usually needed when the computerized voice spoke into his bluetooth earpiece.

_"The Batmobile is ten minutes out."_

"Thank you," Alfred responded. "I'm grateful for your assistance so far tonight. Still, it would be rather nice to know with whom I am speaking."

_"I am the Oracle."_

"Yes, ma'am. We've already established your title. I would like to know if I'm dealing with a group, an individual. A simple ally or an actual friend."

_"All will be revealed."_

"Yes, I imagine it shall. Until then you'll pardon me if I'm not my usual gentlemanly self. I have to prepare for the Batman's injuries now.

_"I'll check on his condition in a few hours."_

The tunnel Jason was driving in began look different. What had been bricks and mortar had now turned to rock. He drove through an archway and into a much smaller tunnel. _End of the subway system? So what's this?_ _Still looks old but with the same lighting._ Old wooden support beams stood side by side with modern aluminum support beams. He continued on for several more miles and started to slow down as he saw the tunnel ended. However, as the Batmobile approached he saw the wall of the tunnel began to lower, revealing a vast opening. Jason drove the Batmobile through. Again he was amazed at what he saw. He was in a vast cave that had been turned into a headquarters. He could see different sections on various platforms all around. All the platforms were surrounded by what seemed like glass walls. What looked to be the central hub had a massive plasma monitor surrounded by several other monitors. A console sat below them, with several ergonomic chairs in front. Jason drove past several different versions of the Batmobile he was driving. He arrived at a platform where an older man in a black sweater and gray slacks was standing. Jason popped the cockpit and got out.

"He's hurt bad," Jason said to the man. "Help."

"I will. How badly are you hurt?" Alfred asked. Jason had blood running down his face from his nose.

"I'm fine. Just help him," Jason answered as he lost consciousness. Alfred caught him as he collapsed to the floor. He briefly checked Jason's vitals and left him on the ground. Batman was the priority.

Alfred walked around to the passenger side of the Batmobile. Batman was propped up on the seat, his cowl removed. The top left side of his face was badly bruised and his left eye was swollen shut. There was dried blood on his face and coming out of his ears.

_Oh dear... _Alfred thought. The Cave's alert system sounded. Leslie had arrived. Alfred heard her descend the stairs that led to the entrance to the mansion. Alfred grabbed Batman and picked him up in fireman's carry. He slowly walked to the infirmary.

"Leslie!" Alfred yelled. He heard footsteps as Leslie ran the rest of the way down the long stairway. She ran past the central hub, down a shorter flight of stairs and into the infirmary to meet Alfred.

"Oh. God..." Leslie said as she saw Bruce. She took a penlight out from her pocket and checked Bruce's pupils. "What happened?"

"Hand to hand combat. Batman's lenscam caught parts," Alfred answered. He began to remove Batman's gloves and boots.

"Someone's fist did this? Through his cowl? And they beat Bruce in a fight?"

The implication was clear. Batman's cowl was armored and he was one of the world's top fighters. To be able to hurt him like this, to even be able to hurt him, would require abilities beyond human limits. This was the work of a metahuman.

Leslie lifted his neck and felt around. She shined her penlight in his ears and checked his pupils again. His breathing was labored and he was unresponsive to stimuli.

"Alfred, this isn't good. Ears are bleeding, no response to stimuli. This isn't my area of expertise. He's had concussions, this is something worse. It's time," Leslie said. Alfred could see the worry in her eyes.

Alfred nodded. He knew what she was saying. Batman had designed protocols for numerous situations should they arise. Although Leslie was a skilled trauma surgeon and the rest of the team had extensive medical training, head trauma was a specialty none of them had. In the case of severe head trauma, the protocol was called PHYSICIAN LIGHT.

"PHYSICIAN LIGHT is green," Alfred said. "Do what you can here, I'm leaving now." Alfred took a few steps, paused, and turned back toward Leslie. "Also, there is an unconscious young man on the Batmobile platform. His name is Jason." Alfred turned and quickly headed for the elevator to the mansion.

Leslie nodded. She looked down at Bruce. _Damn you. Why can't you stop? _she thought. She began removing the rest of his uniform, throwing it into a pile in the corner of the infirmary. She began to do what she could for Bruce until Alfred returned.

Jason opened his eyes and looked around. The first sensation he noticed was pain from the worst headache he had ever had. And it was cold where he was. He was on a cold stone floor. ¿_Dónde estoy? _he thought. _Where am I? _He looked around and everything came flooding back. _Batman... the big guy... the fight... hit him with the car... tunnels... the cave. Bruce Wayne. Bruce Wayne. Batman is Bruce Wayne. Holy shit._

Jason sat up and looked around. He was on a platform next to the Batmobile. There were metal stairs leading to various other platforms, each containing different sections of the cave. Something that looked like it was for weapons. He got up and walked forward. The cave was immense. And dark. And cold. Jason heard screeches and looked up. What little lighting there was came from a tract lighting system attached to... a clear plastic ceiling? _What the hell? _He could see that the clear ceiling stretched over the entire span of the cave, covering every platform. The ceiling was attached to the clear walls surrounding them. Metal stairs connected the platforms to each other, and also had clear walls and ceilings forming corridors. Intermittent large gray tubes were spread throughout the , emitting a low hum. The entire headquarters was self contained and separate from the natural cave while still allowing a sparsely lit view of the cavern. It reminded Jason of being in an underwater aquarium.

Jason walked to a short set of metal stairs and went up, following the path to the next transparent corridor which led up to the main hub where the monitors and console were. From here he could see most of the platforms and access each one. The platform directly to his left seemed to lead to a room that directly led into the wall of the cave itself. The platform next to that one was obviously an armory. Multiple rows of weapons were mounted from floor to ceiling on the massive high walls surrounding the platform. Jason could make out the various types of batarangs, but didn't know what most of the other weapons and tools were. The next platform over was again massive. It contained numerous large machines Jason didn't recognize and several workbenches and a door that looked to lead into the wall of the cave itself. Various pipes and tubing surrounded each platform, he didn't see where they lead to.

To the right of the hub he saw stairs leading to a full private gym with every type of exercise equipment one could imagine. On the far side of the gym was a boxing style ring. The massive platform also had what looked from above like a fully functioning miniature hospital. Jason could see six hospital beds, an x-ray and multiple other medical machines, two operating sections, and some sort of immersion tank.

A short, slender woman was in one of the operating rooms, standing over a nude man on the table. Jason walked down the stairs from the central hub to the training/infirmary platform and approached the woman. She was was holding the hand of the figure on the table, Bruce Wayne. As he grew closer he realized he knew her.

"Dr. Leslie?"

Leslie looked up at the voice. Recognition, followed by shock, was apparent on her face.

"Jason Todd? You're the 'Jason' Alfred meant? What are you doing here?"


	9. Chapter 9 PHYSICIAN LIGHT

9

**PHYSICIAN LIGHT**

Alfred stopped in front of the antique grandfather clock in the library at Wayne Manor. Thomas Elliot stood next to him, unsure of what was happening. Elliot's personal assistant had knocked incessantly on his bedroom door until he had woken up. He was furious until she had apologetically explained that Bruce Wayne's private butler was on the phone with some sort of emergency. Alfred had given no explanation, just that Bruce Wayne desperately needed him and that it was literally a matter of life and death. Tommy had assumed that Bruce or one of his bimbos had overdosed on some drug.

Alfred opened the glass panel covering the face of the clock and turned the hands to 10:47. He closed the panel and placed his palm print directly on the glass. A blue light emitted from the clock and and bathed Alfred's hand and face in an eerie glow.

"Alpha Tango Charlie Papa," Alfred said crisply. He put his hand down and waited for 5 seconds. The clock opened up on hidden hinges, revealing a narrow brick hallway with stone stairs leading downward.

"Alfred, what the hell is going on?" Tommy asked.

"Please follow me, sir," Alfred replied cryptically as he descended the staircase. Tommy was too stunned to think of anything more to say and so simply followed. The staircase seemed long, slowly getting deeper and wider. Tommy estimated they must have gone two stories underground before they came out onto the central hub platform of the Cave. He looked around in astonishment.

"Please, sir," Alfred said as he continued walking to the infirmary. Tommy continued on in a daze. He followed Alfred to the infirmary where he saw a badly injured Bruce Wayne laying on an operating table, Leslie and a teenager he didn't know were standing over him. Tommy saw the broken cowl and bloody Batman uniform lying on the floor.

"You've got to be kidding me," he quietly said. "B-..."

"Tommy we don't have time for questions," Leslie urgently said. "Bruce has a head injury and we need you right now."

Tommy walked over to the comatose Bruce and opened up his eyes. Leslie handed him a penlight without asking and he looked at Bruce's pupils and nostrils. Tommy put the light down and felt along Bruce's neck, behind his ears, and gently felt around his head.

"Obviously there's some severe head injury here," he said, now in doctor mode. "Safe bet there's cerebral edema. We need to relieve the intracranial pressure to drain the excess fluid. We need to get him to a hospital. Now, before his ICP becomes fatal."

"No hospitals," Alfred stated emphatically. "No matter the danger, no hospitals. We need you to do what you can."

"I can't do anything here. I-"

"Tommy, trust me" Leslie interrupted. "Any equipment you need is here. I can assist and Alfred has extensive medical training. Jason can be a fourth pair of hands if we need him."

"Leslie, he could die."

"Believe me," she replied, "He's willing to take that risk over exposure."

Tommy made the decision quickly out of necessity. "Kid, I need a bucket with ice. Leslie, show me where all the equipment and supplies are. Alfred, be on standby. Everyone throw scrubs and masks on and wash up when we have everything."

Seven hours later Tommy, Alfred, and Leslie were in the War Room seated around a long black rectangular table. The table was topped with a clear polymer touch screen that interfaced with the massive monitor on the far wall. Tommy was impressed with the technology, as he had been with everything else he had seen in the Cave.

The surgery had gone well. Tommy had drilled 4 separate holes into Bruce's skull to relieve the pressure but had not had to do anything more invasive. Only time would tell if there had been more extensive damage. Bruce had been placed into an induced coma following the procedure and now was being monitored for any signs of stroke or seizure. It would be days before he was conscious.

The procedure had been grueling for all but Tommy, who was used to significantly longer operations. He had been astounded at Alfred's medical knowledge, and Jason had followed every direction without hesitation. After it was over Jason was given another evaluation and told to rest. He was asleep in one of the medical beds. Alfred had asked Tommy to sit in the War Room with he and Leslie. It was question and answer time.

"So... this is unexpected," Tommy began. He wasn't sure where to start. Question after question was forming in his head. Bruce Wayne being Batman made as much sense as Donald Trump being Superman. He couldn't fathom either.

"I'm sure you have a lot of questions," Leslie said. "We'll answer what we can."

"You could say that. I'm not even sure where to begin here."

"Whatever you think of first," Alfred said.

Tommy sighed and rubbed his eyes. "So is this real? Bruce really is the Batman? Not some copycat? I mean, I see all the equipment, everything, but I still just can't believe he's the Batman. Is he the only one? Are there Batmen?"

"It's him, Tommy. Just him," Leslie answered. "He's the only one there's ever been."

"Incredible." Tommy stared into the distance trying to organize his questions. "Okay, so is he a metahuman and I didn't know? Augmented somehow? It didn't seem like it, but to do what the Batman does..."

"Quite human," Alfred replied. "We work hard to make it seem otherwise. In a world that has a Superman and a Wonder Woman an

ordinary human dressed as a bat doesn't strike as much terror into people as an unknown does. The Batman is the result of years of training and technology."

"So when he was partying around the world-"

"Training. Always training in everything you can imagine. Martial arts, forensics, psychology, weapons, languages..."

"Languages?"

"Off the top of my head, Spanish, French, Russian, German, Arabic, Farsi, Cantonese, Mandarin, Japanese, Pashto, Urdu and various dialects of all of them. Probably a dozen more, some he's never mentioned. Like everything, he excels at it and devotes countless hours to study."

"He sounds obsessed."

"He is. He devotes every waking moment to learning anything that might be useful in the field."

Tommy was stunned into silence for a few moments. "It's funny, I remember him being smart as a kid, then after Tom and Martha died he just shut down. When he came back I thought he was just a drunk moron, no offense."

"None taken," Leslie said. "It's what he wants people to think. He's never been drunk."

"I've seen him drink. Every time we're out. Are all the bartenders in on it?" he asked sarcastically.

"A pill he helped design," Leslie told him. "Nullifies the effect."

"Incredible," Tommy repeated. He thought for a moment before asking "How does he fund it? Himself? It'd cost billions. He'd be caught pretty quickly."

Alfred gave a wry smile. "He studied forensic accounting while abroad. When he came back he set up numerous dummy corporations that do business with each other, transferring money all around. Less than a penny of every dollar Bruce Wayne makes goes towards funding the Batman. But with a sixty four billion dollar fortune that is a substantial amount. He also siphons off from numerous terrorist organizations. Al Qaeda, Hydra, H.I.V.E, Kobra, Intergang. Also cartels, gangs, mafia families. All fund the Batman and have no idea."

"He must get a kick out of that," Tommy said with a chuckle.

"I suspect that may be true," Alfred answered. "Though I doubt he'd ever admit as such."

"And it seems that you're more than a butler."

"Quite the contrary, I happen to be an excellent butler who excels in the duties assigned by his employer. I just happen to use some skills from previous occupations."

Leslie reached over and took Alfred's hand in hers. "He's being coy, Tommy," she said with a grin. "Alfred was a combat surgeon with the SAS and British intelligence after that. He taught Bruce some of what he knows."

"So you were Dr. James Bond, huh?"

"Nothing so dramatic, I'm afraid," Alfred responded with a wry grin. "Though that is how I met Thomas Wayne."

"I've known you my entire life, now I feel like I don't know you at all. Any of you," Tommy said with sadness. "Who else knows? You guys, but what about Dick? Does- Oh, God... Is Dick-

"Robin. Dick is Robin," Leslie said. "Trained by Bruce."

"Jesus... Who is Batgirl?"

Leslie and Alfred looked at each other before Alfred responded. "That isn't our secret to tell."

Tommy ran his fingers through his hair. Question after question would come to him only to be pushed away by other questions. He felt overwhelmed. "Leslie, I can't believe you'd support this. This isn't you."

"It's reluctant support. I didn't know in the beginning. They came to me when they needed help, like we did with you tonight. He will keep doing this with or without our support. The Bruce Wayne you know doesn't exist. He is the most driven human being I've ever met. The most stubborn. He will never quit. And though I wish he would, I will not let him or his team die. I'm a doctor. My oath means everything. You of all people should understand that."

"Bruce has tried to keep as few people from knowing as possible," Alfred said. "It's for everyone's protection. But in an emergency such as this he has protocols for who can be brought in. Only people he truly trusts. He trusts you, Tommy. You're like an older brother to him. There's a lot to learn about this operation and I'm sure you have many more questions. So the question is are you in?"

Tommy grinned. "Yeah, I am definitely in."

Tommy pulled his Porsche up to the circular driveway at his family estate. It was morning outside now, and although drained from the sleepless night and surgery, he was wide awake from the shock of the things he had recently learned. He got out, walked to the door and opened it, stepping inside. His mother was already waiting in the foyer, her first martini in hand.

"On call?" she slurred sardonically.

"Not exactly, mom..." Tommy replied as he passed her.

"So did you find a woman stupid enough to take you home or just screw a whore?"

Tommy stopped and turned to face her. He loathed her with every fiber of his being. _ If I could just get away with it_, he thought. "I found a whore smart enough to take my money. Want me to tell you what we did?"

"Don't be vulgar," she sneered. Tommy smirked and went upstairs.

Tommy entered his massive room, shut the door and locked it. He walked towards his closet, undressing along the way. The maid would get it later. Fully nude, he entered his closet and opened a drawer built into the wall. He took a small glass vial, razor blade, short metal straw, and small square mirror out.

Tommy walked into his bathroom and placed the mirror down on the counter. He opened the vial and tapped out a small amount of cocaine onto the mirror. Using the razor blade he divided the drug into two fat lines. He took the metal straw and snorted a line into each nostril. He licked his finger and used it to get the residue on the mirror, rubbing it on his gums.

Tommy went to his shower and turned it on, waiting for the jets to get to the perfect hot temperature. He stepped inside and let the hot water flow all over him. He laughed to himself. _Oh, Bruce. You dumb son of a bitch._


	10. Chapter 10 AWAKE

10

**AWAKE**

**84 HOURS LATER**

Bruce became aware of sound first. As the drug induced fog lifted from his mind he felt like the volume of the world was slowly being turned up. A rhythmic beeping coming from somewhere. Voices, though he couldn't quite make them out. He tried to remember where he was, but realized he had no idea. He kept his eyes closed, in case he was being monitored, but strained to hear more. Bruce did a mental evaluation of his body starting with his breathing. He wasn't on a respirator, good news. Next, he checked his toes. He moved them slightly under the covers, making sure they were still there and functional. Satisfied, he moved to his leg muscles, slightly flexing them. He repeated the process for his major muscle groups and fingers. Satisfied, he now focused on his head. There was a dull ache that he somehow knew would hurt even worse later. _Good. The pain will give me something to focus on. Now, where am I? _

He focused on his olfactory senses. _Disinfectant... plus the rhythmic beeping. Hospital of some sort. I hear... Spanish? Sounds like television in Spanish. Could be Gotham still. Could be Santa Prisca for all I know. ATV. Last thing I can remember is being on an ATV... for what? _ It was his last thought before he fell asleep again.

**3 HOURS LATER**

Bruce woke up again, made the same assessments, his body still seemed fine, his head still hurt, but the television or monitor with someone speaking in Spanish was off. Bruce concentrated on his breathing, trying to get as much oxygen to his blood as possible. He made an effort to stay conscious, trying to take in as many sounds as possible. He faded in and out a few times, until eventually he heard footsteps coming towards him. _Soft soled shoes. Short intervals. Probably female. _ He felt something small enter his ear. _Thermometer_. Bruce then smelled something. A scent of perfume he'd known all his life. _Leslie_. Unless it was a woman with the same perfume. _Let's find out._

"Who's there?" he asked weakly.

"Bruce, it's Leslie," she said softly. "You're in the Cave. Try not to move." Bruce's eyes slowly opened and he said something she couldn't quite make out. Leslie leaned in. "Say that again."

"Sitrep," he said more strongly.

Leslie sighed. It never ended with him. "Here's your situation report. You were nearly beaten to death. You had surgery and you just came out of an induced coma. You've been unconscious for almost four days. You need rest."

"What happened?"

"Plenty of time for that later. How do you feel?"

"Head hurts, groggy."

"You'll be that way for a bit. Any other pain?"

"No..."

"Good. Your vitals have been stable and constant. You're lucky to be alive."

Bruce was more awake now. He started processing what was happening. "Head trauma?"

"Yes, Bruce. You nearly died."

"You said surgery. Tommy?"

"Tommy's been read in, yes. He was the primary for your operation."

_Another one,_ Bruce thought. Another person at risk, another vulnerability. It was a position he never wanted to put Tommy in. "How'd he react?"

"Like you'd expect. Shock and a lot of questions. He seemed good with it though. Add one more to the team."

They heard footsteps behind them as Alfred approached with a plastic cup of water with a straw. "Good to see you awake, sir," he said as he placed the straw towards Bruce's mouth. Bruce took a small sip and nodded. "You gave us all quite a scare."

"What happened?" He was still speaking softly, every sentence an effort. "I remember being on an ATV in a tunnel, not much else."

"You were trying to intercept Beals before he walked into a trap. The assassin. Do you remember the assassin?"

Bruce sat still for a moment as flashes came back. The hotel, the fire, tracking Beals. Bits and pieces were returning. "I remember surveillance on Beals, tracking him through a crowd. The tunnel, ATV... and Oracle. The synthesized voice on our coms." He frowned, trying to recollect more. "That's it."

"We tracked Beals to a warehouse, where he was attacked," Alfred replied. "You engaged the assassin and were rendered unconscious. Your lenscam captured most until then. It was damaged during the fight."

"How did I end up here? What happened to Beals?"

"Beals was killed. Another subject intervened and rescued you. The assassin escaped. Do you remember the chap who stole the Batmobile in Park Row?"

Bruce furrowed his brow. The man had attacked him and stole his car. Why save him? "Yes..."

"He stopped the assassin from killing you and brought you here. He saved your life."

"You told him where the Cave was?" Bruce asked incredulously.

"Your cowl had already been removed. He'd seen your face. You had already been compromised, so there wasn't much to lose. Weighed against saving your life it was the right decision," Alfred replied. "He's been here recovering as well."

"Bruce, I know him," Leslie informed him. "He's from the East End. His father was a thief who worked for and was killed by Harvey Dent. His mom is an addict and prostitute. God knows where she is. She comes in and out of his life. He's been on the streets for years. He's had it pretty bad, but he's not a bad kid."

"Kid?" Bruce asked.

"He's seventeen or eighteen."

"He's got skills for that age. Disabled the security on the Batmobile, set up a tripwire and took me out, engaged the assassin. And won. He's either metahuman or was trained by someone. You said Dent killed his father. I was tracking Dent when he took the Batmobile. Can't be a coincidence. How did he beat the assassin?"

"According to him with a flashbang, a batarang through the eye, and then running him over with the Batmobile. The assassin was missing when the police arrived. Either he walked away on his own power or he had associates who grabbed him. He might very well be alive."

Bruce sat for a moment in silence. It was a lot of information to process upon waking up. Then he remember something. "I heard Spanish in here at one point."

"That was Jason watching television," Leslie answered. "He's Cuban."

"Half," a voice said behind them. All three turned to see Jason standing at the far end of the room. Bruce noted that none of them had heard him approach. "I'm half Cuban. Mom's white. Sorry, heard you guys talking and thought I should come over."

"Come closer," Bruce ordered softly.

Jason approached before realizing he was following the order. The man seemed to exude authority, even with a whisper from a hospital bed. Jason had survived on the streets partially by learning to read people. He looked at Bruce's face and felt himself being evaluated. Dissected. Even incapacitated as Bruce was Jason still felt intimidated. It was an unusual feeling, even when facing danger on the streets. Bruce Wayne radiated danger.

"Thank you," Bruce said quietly.

Jason looked to Alfred and Leslie, unsure of how to respond. He looked back to Bruce only to find he had fallen asleep.

"He needs rest, " Leslie told him. "Let's get some food and let him," she said as she led Jason and Alfred out.

Leslie Boxer got off the subway a block from her house and made her way slowly up the stairs to the city street. She was still mad at herself for not bringing comfortable flats with her on her date, though the purse she had to go with her dress wouldn't wasn't large enough anyway. Her four inch heels had been excruciating for the three blocks she had had to walk from the restaurant to the subway after she had stormed out.

She had met the guy through her dating profile. Steve had seemed nice enough at first. They had "sixty seven percent syncronisity" according to the matchmaking site. Same general movies, same love for BBC shows, even her favorite musician Cobie Caillat. They had sent private messages to each other for three days before deciding to meet for coffee. That had gone well and she had agreed to a proper first date.

It had started out well. He picked her up in his late model BMW and they drove to a nice side of the city and a fairly nice restaurant. Ten minutes into what had so far been comfortably nice Steve informed her that he had the best tongue and the best dick she'll ever meet and he couldn't wait to use both on her. Not wanting to cause a scene she politely excused herself to go to the ladies' room and exited through the kitchen, making her way towards the subway. Before she had gone underground she had received three texts from Steve asking where she was and what had happened. She didn't respond and was grateful that the underground tunnel blocked signals.

By the time she exited the tunnel and gotten a signal again Steve's texts had grown decidedly angrier and culminated with calling her a fat cow who needed a pity fuck.

"Asshole," she said to herself as she said as she got close to her building. She immediately blocked his number. She was beginning to give up hope. Since she had set up her profile she had been on seven dates with different types of men. Each had been sexist in his own disappointing way. Even the "nice guy". _Especially the nice guy_, she thought. He had thought he was owed sex in exchange for being polite and called her a cunt when it didn't happen. _Needle in a haystack would be easier. I'm going to end up a crazy cat lady at this rate._ She smirked at the thought.

Walking up the stoop of her building she heard a sound from the alley, followed by a meow. Curious, she walked back down the stoop and went to investigate in between the buildings.

"Edward!" she exclaimed when she saw her cat on top of the dumpster. "How did you get out?" She approached the dumpster to grab her pet when a man stepped out from a crouch. For a split second neither one moved. Then incredibly fast the man stepped toward her, put a hand on her mouth and she saw a flash of something metal. She heard a sound and felt pressure in her abdomen and looked down, unable to make a sound. Blood was flowing from her stomach and a large knife was embedded. She looked back up into the man's eyes.

"Uppity bitch," he said with a sneer as he stabbed her twice more, twisting the knife after the third puncture.

The last thought Leslie Boxer ever had was one of confusion. She had never seen the man before in her life.


	11. Chapter 11 BAD HISTORY

11

**BAD HISTORY**

**17 DAYS AFTER SURGERY**

Bruce watched the video from his lenscam again. Though a brief encounter he wanted to remember every move the assassin had made. He was obviously augmented somehow and well trained. Likely Spetsnaz, Bruce thought. The Russian special operations unit was infamous for their brutal training and nearly impossible standards. _Maybe a new metahuman unit attached to GRU? _he wondered. _Unlikely._ _GRU wouldn't do this on American soil. Over a hundred people are dead so far. _While foreign intelligence services did operate in other countries, to have an assassin on a rampage of this degree would be too risky. The fallout could be war. _Unless they're desperate enough to take that chance..._

Bruce grunted, frustrated at the lack of data. He was generally good at filling in gaps in intelligence to form a relatively accurate theory, but was stumped here. He had looked for a connection between the victims, a common thread. _ Bulgakov had been a Soviet general that came up from Spetsnaz who defected to the United States right before the fall of the USSR. Bob and Julie Smith had both been geneticists at S.T.A.R Labs, but both were born and raised in America. No connection. The three men who had died at the hotel, Vasilev, Makarov, and Pavlov, had all defected from the Soviet Union within a year of the general. And all three were doctors. Possible connection. Many people defected around that time. Beals was an architect from Gotham. No connection. Except for the married couple and the three friends in New York none of the victims knew each other. _Bruce wanted to read more on the files from the Russians, but the Soviet Union had lost many records during the fall, and many had simply not been transferred to the digital age. It was a puzzle with too many missing pieces.

Bruce decided to take a break and let his subconscious work. He moved on to his other issue: Jason Todd. After Bruce had fallen asleep again Jason had decided to leave the Cave and return to the East End. He felt trapped there and was uncomfortable. Alfred had given Jason a specially modified iPhone in case they needed to contact each other. There had been no contact either way. Alfred and Bruce had monitored the GPS signal to build a pattern of movement for Jason, but he had remained in the East End.

Bruce had gathered as much as he could on Jason from hospital records, school records, GCPD, and Child Protective Services. Jason was seventeen years old, the son of Eduardo Diaz and Sheila Todd, never married. Diaz had been born in Cuba, escaped to America with his mother and father at four years old, and raised in the East End. He'd dropped out as a junior in high school, gotten his GED, and joined the Marines where it was discovered he had a talent for electrical engineering. While in the service his mother had passed away from cancer. The father died a year later from heart attack. Diaz had a bright future in the Corps until a bar fight in Guam between his squad and some locals. A man had pulled a knife, and Diaz swung his pool cue in self defense, striking him in the neck and killing him. Diaz went on trial and because the knife was never found thanks to the victim's friends and he received a dishonorable discharge. Diaz returned to Gotham, and unable to find employment, he used his skills to commit robberies. He moved up in the criminal world, freelancing to groups who needed to get past security systems.

Sheila Todd had been born to a miner and his wife in a small town in Pennsylvania. Like Diaz she was an only child. According to the missing person's report her parents filed when she was fifteen her father had caught her holding hands with a boy he didn't like, causing a massive fight. She was gone the next morning. Hospital records showed that Sheila had several broken ribs and a collarbone throughout childhood, all attributed to falling while climbing trees. Bruce suspected abuse. Three years after Sheila left her mom shot her father before turning the gun on herself.

The first record of Sheila in Gotham was an arrest for solicitation at 16. A string of arrests after that painted a bleak story, one seen far too often in big cities. Bruce couldn't see how they met, but Jason was born when Sheila was 19, Diaz listed as the father. Records indicated they lived together for the next year, until Diaz was arrested and convicted of felony burglary. He went to prison and Jason remained with his mother for another year before she too was arrested and he was sent to his first foster home. Jason was transferred from foster home to foster home for the next five years. By his sixth year in the system Sheila had been released from jail and completed her court ordered rehab. After completing a parenting course required by the state she regained custody of Jason. Eduardo was released from prison shortly before Jason's ninth birthday. Diaz and Smith reconciled and moved in together.

Eduardo had found an honest job cleaning carpets for a friend's company, while Sheila had found work as a nighttime janitor in an office building. For over three years things remained the same while they both tried to live honest lives. After their fourth year together Eduardo had convinced Sheila to reconcile with her parents. It was then that she found out about the murder/suicide.

Sheila went into a depression and ended up back on heroin, with Diaz unaware. He found out after her dealer and several enforcers came to the family's apartment. Sheila owed a lot of money and had lost her job. Her dealer had wanted to sell her on the streets to make up, but Diaz had promised to come up with the cash plus interest. He called up his old contacts and found a job for a mystery man who needed to pull a heist for operational funds. That man was the long missing Harvey Dent. Diaz worked for six months for Harvey Dent, until he learned of Dent's plan to kill numerous cops, lawyers, and judges at Gotham's main courthouse.

Diaz had decided to inform the authorities, unaware his calls were being monitored by Dent's security. Diaz set up a meeting with a detective from the Major Crimes Unit. He never made it. On an anonymous tip his body was found two days later with two bullet holes in his forehead. Upon receiving the news from the GCPD Sheila collapsed to the floor and sobbed while Jason held her. Jason was twelve years old.

According to the intake report from Jason's next foster home his mother had told him that evening she was leaving to buy groceries. She never came back and Jason ended up back in the system. He ran away from his foster home and ended up on the streets, arrested a year later for solicitation to an undercover police officer. He spent six months in juvie before being sent to a group home. Six weeks after that the group home was busted for child prostitution from an anonymous tip. The sweet, elderly woman who ran the home had been pimping the kids out for over a year. Bruce remembered the case and it still enraged him. Jason had disappeared from the system after that, no arrest or CPS records.

Leslie had filled in the blanks from there. She told Bruce that Jason was known around the neighborhood, but nobody knew much about him. He had never joined any gangs, stopped selling his body and never sold any drugs. Nobody quite knew how he survived or where he slept. He would go to soup kitchens sometimes, and had received medical care at the clinic when needed. Every once in a while he would show up with cuts and bruises but wouldn't say where he got them. But Jason had built a reputation for being dangerous. It was known not to provoke a fight with him. He had been a regular at Ted Grant's gym since leaving his last group home. Once a gang leader had tried to get to a rival gang member who was staying overnight at the Thomas Wayne memorial clinic, which was a violation of a known East End code. The clinic was neutral ground for everyone. Jason had taken a metal cane and beaten the man and his two lieutenants as soon as they stepped through the door. Ironically all three ended up needing medical attention from the staff. There was no retaliation because the code had been violated.

Bruce sat back in his chair, staring at the main monitor, lost in thought. Jason had had it about as rough as he'd ever seen. But he had survived. He seemed to be smart and physically capable, but the kid was angry. Aimless. Obviously he was out for revenge against Harvey Dent. But Dent was smart and hired good help. Going against Dent was a suicide mission if you weren't fully prepared. Bruce set the thought aside and used the computer to call Alfred on his cell phone. He answered on the first ring.

"Yes, Master Bruce?"

"Get my wig out, lay out a suit," Bruce ordered. "I'm coming upstairs." Bruce's head had been shaved for the operation over three weeks ago. It would take awhile for it to grow back to it's regular length. Bruce had wigs prepared from his own hair for this very reason, knowing it was a very likely scenario. Always be prepared.

"Where are we going, sir?"

"The city. There's something I need to take care of."


	12. Chapter 12 NEVER ENOUGH

12

**NEVER ENOUGH**

Alfred drove the pristine black Bentley up to the the ticket machine in front of the entrance to the underground parking garage for the office building. He lowered the window, pressed the green button and took the ticket the machine printed out. The security gate rose and he slowly drove through as he rolled his window back up. Visitors had to park on the bottom two levels of the garage, and at eleven dollars an hour visitors did not stay longer than they had to and promptly left when their business in the building was concluded. Alfred found a parking space on the bottom level and expertly backed in so the car could pull quickly out of the space in an emergency.

He got out, went to the back of the car and opened the rear driver's side door. Bruce Wayne stepped out and started walking toward the elevator banks. Alfred shut the door to the car and caught up to Bruce. Both men silently noted the make, model, color, condition, and the first three digits of the license plates of the cars in their row. It was pure habit, and nothing unusual stood out. They would automatically do the same on their way back and might notice any changes. The duo arrived at the elevator and Bruce pushed the up button and stepped back.

"Pull watch in the lobby," Bruce instructed Alfred.

"Anything in particular I should be watching for? It would help to know why we're here."

"Just get a feel for the place. Comings and goings, standard watch exercise. I'll tell you later."

Alfred simply nodded as the elevator door opened and they stepped inside. The elevator was only for the lobby and Bruce pressed the top button as the doors closed. Four seconds later the door opened and they walked out onto the marble floor of the building. Again both men assessed the space they were in, noting the exits, number of people, how they were dressed, and what security and cameras were present. It was mid afternoon and several people in various levels of business attire were walking to and from the main elevator banks, their shoes echoing off the polished marble floor.

Bruce saw a security desk manned by two guards about thirty feet to his right. He turned and made his way towards them while Alfred took a seat in a section of the lobby that gave him the best angle to watch from. Bruce approached the security desk and smiled at the guards, one of whom obviously recognized him.

"Afternoon, gents," Bruce said as lightly as he could. "I have a friend I'm here to see, but it's kind of a surprise. Any way I can sneak up without being on a list?"

"I think we can manage that," the guard who recognized him said as he began typing on his computer. He printed out a visitor's pass on a small sticker and handed it to Bruce. "Just wave the barcode in the elevator and press your floor. Use elevator number two and toss the sticker when you leave."

"Thanks, appreciate it," Bruce said as he walked off.

"Why didn't you ID him?" the other guard asked as soon as Bruce was out of earshot.

"Didn't need to. That's Bruce Wayne. My wife is going to flip out when I tell her."

"Thought he looked familiar. Probably get lost in the elevator." Both guards chuckled.

Bruce rode the elevator to his floor and stepped out into the lobby of an enormous top floor office. He surveyed the empty room, noting that there were state of the art security cameras on opposite sides of the wall, giving a complete view of the room. He walked over to one of the couches and sat down to wait.

Three minutes later the door from the lobby to the rest of the office opened. Bruce stood as Barbara Gordon wheeled herself in. There was an awkward silence for a few seconds before Barbara spoke.

"Hey, Bruce."

"Hi, Barbara."

"How did you get up here? All my visitors have to have a badge or visitor's pass personally approved by me.

"Told the security guard I was surprising a friend. He let me up."

"Sometimes the best way into a restricted area is to simply ask," Barbara said, repeating the words Bruce had said repeatedly to her during training. The Team had used the tactic many times during recces to get into places they weren't supposed to be.

Bruce couldn't tell if Barbara meant the phrase as a jab or not. He opened his mouth to say something, and closed it again.

"I'm glad you're here," Barbara said, smiling slightly at Bruce's uncomfortableness.

"Are you? I wasn't sure I should."

"I knew you'd figure it out. The plan was to talk after the mission. And then... How are you?" she asked. It wasn't a light question, and Bruce knew she didn't mean it that way. "You've lost a lot of weight.

"I'm recovering," he answered. "I'll be back." She knew he meant as The Batman.

"Good," she said with approval. Another awkward silence. She decided to clear the air. "Bruce... what I did... what I said. It was wrong. I see that now. I'm sorry." As hard as it was for her to say, she knew that it was harder for Bruce to hear. She imagined he carried a fair amount of guilt for what happened with the Joker. As many talents as Bruce had, conversations like this was not one of them. He obviously didn't know how to respond.

"Barbara, I..."

She took his hand in hers and squeezed. She knew it made him uncomfortable, but it still conveyed what she wanted. "You don't have to say anything. We're good Bruce. I promise. It's why I helped." She released his hand.

"Thank you for that," he whispered. She knew he meant for what she said and for her help. And probably for letting go of his hand, too. Nothing more needed to be said between them on the subject.

"Have you talked to Dick?" she asked, not knowing what she wanted the answer to be.

"No. Have you?"

"No. None of the Titans have heard from him, not even Wally. I would look for him but I don't think he wants to be found."

"Give him time." There was more silence, this time broken by Bruce. "So..." he said. "You went with 'Oracle'?" Bruce had that frown-smirk expression on his face when he found something amusing.

"Yes, I did." She shrugged. "You told me I wasn't an oracle so I decided to become one."

"Well that's one hell of a 'fuck you'."

Barbara gave a short laugh. Bruce didn't often joke, and he had the driest humor she'd ever known. "Yeah, I guess it was."

"How about a tour? Let's see how well Ted did."

Of course he knows Ted built this, she thought. She was glad to see Bruce's injuries hadn't affected his mind. "Even you're going to be impressed," she said. "Come on." She started to wheel away before Bruce stopped her.

"Hold on," he said. He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and pressed a button. "Alfred. Come on up. There's someone here you'll want to see."

Two hours later Alfred and Bruce exited the garage elevator and made their way to the Bentley. They noted that most of the cars were now different from when they had gone up to see Barbara. Alfred had been pleasantly surprised to see her, and she gave both of them a grand tour of her office, empty apartment, and the Oracle headquarters in the top of the clocktower. Bruce admitted that he was impressed with what Ted had done, and Barbara agreed to let him review her security protocols while she and Alfred caught up on each other's lives. Bruce had been equally impressed with how much Barbara had learned in the six months since he had seen her. She never ceased to amaze him.

"Where to now, sir?" Alfred asked as he opened the rear driver's side door.

"That parking garage on sixth street," Bruce answered as he climbed in. He unzipped a gym bag lying next to him and pulled out a change of shabby street clothes. While Alfred drove Bruce quickly changed out of his Brooks Brothers suit and put on the dirty Dickie's, gray t-shirt, and oversized blue hoodie. He removed his wig and put on a black knit watch cap. Bruce completed the change with a pair of horn rimmed fake glasses.

Ten minutes later Alfred pulled into the parking garage Bruce had been referring to. It was one of the few in Gotham that didn't have security cameras and the Team had taken advantage of that many times over the years. Alfred drove to the third level and parked. Both men waited for a few minutes to see if they were alone.

"Take tonight off. Spend time with Leslie," Bruce told him as he got out. He walked away before Alfred could respond.

Bruce took the elevator to the street and made his way to the nearest subway station. He took a train down to the edge of the East End and got out, preferring to walk the rest of the way to his destination. It had been weeks since he had suited up as Batman, and he was concerned that Gotham would notice soon that no one had any recent sightings.

Even in the mid afternoon, or maybe because it's mid afternoon, he thought, he could still pick out the dealers, the addicts, the prostitutes, the pimps, the johns. As skilled as Batman was, there was only so much street crime he could stop. Most of his efforts had been towards the crime lords and super villains, dismantling their plans one mission at a time. The Team had still done sporadic patrols throughout the city, but three crime fighters in a city of over eight million people left a lot to be desired. Fear of the Batman actually stopped more street crime than Batman himself.

_So much more I should be doing_, he thought to himself as he passed a kid of no more than nine hanging out on a street corner. Bruce looked to the stoop of the building the kid was in front of and as expected saw a man in his early twenties standing there. He knew the kid was a corner boy who held the drugs, and the man was the bank. When a drug deal was made, the purchaser would hand the money to the kid, who would give the drugs and then take the money to the man. The man himself never touched the product, giving him a layer of legal protection in case of arrest. The boy would be the sacrifice to the judicial system until he was old enough to be the bank himself. It was a heartbreaking cycle. Bruce knew there was also probably a man with a gun inside the building in case anyone tried to rob the bank, which happened occasionally from a desperate addict.

The boy, the bank, and the unseen muscle were all gang members and reported to higher ups. Corners were considered territories and sometimes other gangs would attempt to make a move, but it was more rare than people thought. Shootouts scared customers, which was bad for business. And business took precedence above all else.

"Whatchu lookin' fo'?" the kid asked as Bruce walked by.

"I'm good," Bruce said hoarsely as he kept on walking.

"Double E, bitch," the boy responded as he held up three fingers sideways on each hand. The "Double E" and hand signal both stood for the Eastside Enders, the East End's oldest and largest gang. The kid was letting him know not to try and rob him.

_Am I going to be fighting you in ten years? _Bruce morosely wondered as he continued past. _Never enough. No matter what I do it's never enough._

He walked for three more blocks, having the same type of interaction twice with another corner boy and unusually, a corner girl. Bruce got to his destination, went up the steps and walked into the old building. He immediately heard the sounds of fighting and was hit with a pungent odor of sweat. A flood of memories immediately washed over him.

Bruce was standing in the boxing gym he had trained in for years after his parents died. Ted Grant, who had operated as the vigilante WildCat, owned the place and had given Bruce extensive training for four years. Grant had been a Marine boxing champ, but had also learned Krav Maga, Muay Thai, hopkido, and Capoeira during his time in the Corps. Usually he only taught boxing to his students, but every once in awhile he made an exception. Bruce had been one of those exceptions.

He did his usual survey of the area. A couple of people glanced his way when he walked in, but quickly dismissed him and went back to training. Bruce was surprised to see a few women training alongside the men. That was new.

"Kane!"

Bruce turned to see an elderly man walking towards him. He was wearing old sweatpants and an even older sweatshirt with the sleeves cut off. Even with his age his muscled bulged. Ted Grant walked up and took his hand, shaking it vigorously. Grant had used the name Bruce used when training with him, though he knew who he really was. It was obvious that Bruce didn't want to be recognized by anyone there.

"Hey, Ted. Good to see you. Can we talk?"

"Sure, sure. Let's head up to the office."

Five minutes later they were sitting in Ted's office. Ted was sat behind his desk while Bruce sat across from him in a cheap folding plastic chair. Bruce's specially modified iPhone sat on the desk, it's anti-eavesdropping app running.

"Love what you've done with the place," Bruce said dryly. The office was nearly exactly like he remembered it from when he first started. Old and dirty.

"Smartass," Ted retorted as he opened a minifridge next to his desk and pulled out a bottle of Bud Light. "People come here to box, not for decorating ideas. Beer?" Bruce shook his head. "Figured I'd try." He opened the beer for himself and took a long pull.

"I noticed some women out there," Bruce said.

"Yeah, yeah," he said with a wave of his hand. "Dinah's been riding my ass for years to be more 'inclusive'. I finally gave it a shot."

"And?"

Ted shrugged his shoulders and took another drink. "And I've been pleasantly surprised. Women fighters weren't really much of a concept back in my day. Looks like I've been missing out."

"Welcome to the twenty first century," Bruce said with a smirk.

"Whatever. Now I know you didn't come here because you've joined the PC police. What can I do for you?"

"Jason Todd."

"I know the kid. What about him? He in some kind of trouble?"

"Not exactly," Bruce answered. "I'm just trying to learn a little bit more about him. Rumor is he's spent a little time here."

Ted snorted. "More than a little. He's been coming here about three years now, and he stays as long as I let him. Kid won't stop training unless I make him."

"How does he afford to?"

"I'm sure you know some of his story. I pretty much just let him. He cleans up around here a lot to give back."

"No gang ties, anything like that?"

"Wouldn't be here if he was. You know that," Ted answered. Known gang members were not allowed to train at Grant's gym.

"Did you give him any of the... special training?"

Grant sighed before he answered. "Yeah, I did. He was hungry for it and pestered me for three months before I started him on Krav. Kid was relentless. I never had to train him to get back up. Hell, I had to teach him when to stay down if the fight was over. He's had a fucked up life. A lot of anger. He channels it here, kinda like you did. He's actually a pretty advanced fighter now. You gonna tell me what this is about?"

"He stole my car."

"He did? Damn. He was boosting cars when he first started here, I made him quit. Shame he fell back into that."

"He stole my _favorite_ car."

Ted raised his eyebrows. "That car? That's impressive. Be worth a lot."

"It's been recovered. I just want to know more about him."

"Guess he'll go back to fighting for money."

"Money?"

"Yep," Ted grinned. "You're gonna love this..."


	13. Chapter 13 DECEPTION

13

**DECEPTION**

**THREE WEEKS LATER**

Jason Todd bounced up and down a few times and rolled his shoulders and neck around as he stared across the ring at his opponent. He could barely hear over the shouts of the crowd in the makeshift arena. The venue for the underground fights changed every time, and fights were only held once a month. This particular fight was being held in an abandoned Sears department store that had closed four years ago, the building all but forgotten by the owner of the property. The main floor had been cleared out and cheap plastic benches and a large chain link cage ring had been hastily set up.

Only one hundred tickets had been sold because of the size of the venue, at a hundred dollars a pop. But the ten thousand in cash wasn't where the host of the fights made most of his money. Waylon Jones made most of his money through the bets on the fights, minus Rupert Thorne's twenty percent commission for letting Jones have the fights in the crime boss's territory. Thorne was also a regular attendee of the fights. No cell phones were allowed, Jones had multiple cameras set up and also charged to see the videos online.

Rounds lasted only three minutes, but there were unlimited rounds. Fights only ended with a knockout or a surrender, and nobody ever wanted to surrender. More than once a fighter had simply passed out from exhaustion. The only two rules were no groin strikes and no killing. It was hard to get fighters when their genitals were vulnerable and a death in the ring would bring a required investigation from the police. But spectators did like to see blood for their money and were rarely disappointed. Fighters who ended up in the hospital knew simply to not say anything, and the matter had never been pursued by the GCPD.

Jones stepped into the middle of the ring and raised his arms and lowered them to tell the crowd to quiet down, which it did. Jones liked to be heard when he announced fights, and nobody dared interrupt him. Jones was not only the host and referee, but also the main event every time. The six foot six black man was well muscled but also completely covered head to toe by small scale-like warts. They actually acted as a natural body armor for him, aiding him in fights. He had never lost yet, even against much larger opponents, and the crowd respected him.

"Alright, here we go!" Jones said to the crowd. "For our third event tonight we have two returning undefeated fighters here. Hope you all got your bets in, this is gonna be good. From the Narrows, in the black shorts, with a record of thirteen and oh, standing six foot four and weighing in at two hundred twenty pounds we have my man Trey Boy!" The crowed cheered for a few seconds. "And his opponent, little vato on suicide mission here. In the green shorts, at five feet eleven inches and one hundred ninety pounds, Jason Todd!" The crowd cheered significantly less this time. "Jason here has whooped ass every time, he's done seven fights and told me he wanted a better challenge. I gave it to him." The crowd cheered again. "Alright boys, go time!"

Jones stepped to the side as an electronic buzzer sounded loudly from a speaker. Jason immediately sprinted towards Trey and leapt into the air, his left leg out for a flying kick. Trey reached up to grab his ankle, but at the last moment Jason dropped his leg, grabbed Trey by both wrists, and slammed his forehead into Trey's face. Trey dropped to the ground unconscious, blood flowing freely from his nose.

The crowd sat stunned in silence for a few seconds. It was the quickest fight they had ever had. Then they erupted in yelling and insults. Many of them had just lost money on what they thought was a sure thing. One man yelled to Jason he was going to take it out of his ass and Jason returned the threat with a middle finger and a smirk. Jones walked over to Jason, grabbed his right arm and raised it into the air.

"And we have a winner in three seconds, ain't never seen a flying headbutt before!"

Fifteen minutes later Jason was sitting in the stands, wearing jeans and a t-shirt, waiting for Jones to fight his opponent. He had been to every fight since it started two years ago, and closely watched all fighters to see their styles, strengths, and weaknesses. He'd seen that Trey was a good fighter, and knew what to do when most kicks or punches were thrown at him. Jason decided that he'd try something new to see how Trey would react. The gamble had obviously paid off, and Jason had bet heavily on himself. He figured he had made at least four thousand that night.

The buzzer sounded, and Jones and a large Armenian fighter named Mesrop sized each other up and stepped towards each other, both had their arms up to guard their heads. Mesrop stepped in and gave two quick right jabs to Jones before a large left hook, which Jones absorbed on his forearm. Jones took advantage of the opening and punched Mesrop in the chest, knocking the wind out of him before he stepped back.

The men circled each other for a minute, feigning punches and kicks without following through, trying to goad each other into attack. Finally Mesrop charged in, throwing left and right jabs. Waylon Jones stepped to the side and wrapped his arms around Mesrop's exposed hips and slammed him to the ground. Once on the floor Jones moved his arms up to Mesrop's midsection and began squeezing his ribs with all of his considerable strength as he continuously rolled Mesrop and around on the ground, his signature move. Mesrop could feel his ribs breaking and tried to swing his elbows into Jones, but the blows were light because of the angle and ineffective. There was a sickening crunch as Mesrop began screaming, and Jones let go and stood up. Mesrop lay on the ground withering in agony, and Jones kicked him in the head, knocking him out.

"And that's why they call me the Killer Croc!" Jones yelled to the cheering crowd.

Jason eventually wanted to take on Jones himself, and he dreaded being on the floor with him. As he watched Jones raise his arms for more cheers the lights suddenly blinked and went out. Within a few seconds the store's emergency lights went on, and the crowd murmured in confusion. Someone in the crowd yelled and pointed up.

The Batman was near the top of the ceiling, looking down on Jones and the entire fight. Shadows mostly obscured him, but he seemed to be floating with nothing holding him up. _ ¿Que la chingada? _Jason thought as he stared up. _What the fuck?_ It was truly a terrifying sight, even though he knew who Batman was. The crowd simply stayed in their seats, too afraid to move and draw the Batman's attention. Weapons were not allowed at the events, so nobody was armed. Even if they had been most wouldn't have had the courage to use them.

The Batman silently floated down and stood on the opposite side of the ring from Jones. Jones simply stood there, not wanting to show fear in front of so many.

"Want a shot?" Waylon taunted.

In a blur Batman moved across the ring and threw his cape around Jones, completely engulfing him. Jones made a muffled sound and then went silent. The crowd heard a low thump and Batman stepped back, revealing an unconscious Waylon Jones lying on the floor.

The Batman turned to the terrified crowd and said only one word. "Run."

Chaos erupted as the crowd scrambled over themselves to get away. They pushed, punched, and kicked at each other to get to the exits. Jason didn't know if the Batman was there for him, and he didn't want to find out. He hadn't talked to anyone on the Team since he left the Cave, and had no desire to now. Surprising himself he noticed that he was relieved to see that Bruce was back to being Batman. Still, he decided to get out of there in case cops came along and busted the place. Jason began pushing through the crowd. Someone grabbed him by the arm and spun him around.

"Ya gotta protect me!" the man frantically yelled.

"Fuck off," Jason said as he jerked his arm out of the man's weak grasp. He made it to an exit and spilled out along with the rest of the crowd. Jason saw that everyone was running in different directions. He shrugged his shoulders and ran with the largest group he could find, hoping to blend in with all the others.

Batman hovered three hundred feet above the building, looking down on the building as the panicked attendees evacuated.

"How did I do?" he asked.

"Perfect," Bruce responded over the radio. "They'll be talking about that for weeks."

"Always fun when I get to be spooky. Can I borrow this suit for Halloween?"

"No."

"It's a joke, Bruce."

"Maintain radio discipline," Bruce growled.

"Sorry. What now?"

"Bring the suit back to the Cave, go home. Thank you for your help, Kal."

"Sure thing, pal."


	14. Chapter 14 RECRUIT

14

**RECRUIT**

Jason opened is eyes, stretched and sat up, the previous night returning to his thoughts. After he had run out with the crowd Jason ran for ten blocks, randomly changing directions until he ended up at a subway station. He took a train to a favorite all night diner to grab food, famished from the fight and running. While eating he took note of every patron that came in and out, as well as the pedestrians. None looked like they could be Alfred or Bruce, and eventually he relaxed, believing Batman had not been at the fight because of him.

After his meal was finished he returned to where he lived, an abandoned slum building that was taken over by the homeless and addicts of the East End. He had taken over an apartment and part of the hallway on the top floor, sealing it off with brick from the rest of the building to prevent intruders. He put rubble from the building in front of the wall, and had sprayed graffiti, and anyone who saw it would assume the hall had simply ended there. This allowed him the only access to the roof, which he used to get in and out while avoiding being seen. Jason figured that eventually Harvey Dent would hear that he was after him. He didn't want Dent to know where he slept. Jason reached next to his sleeping bag and grabbed a pack of cigarettes and lighter. He tapped one out and lit it, and began to contemplate his plans for the day.

"Put that out," a gravelly voice commanded.

"Jesus!" Jason exclaimed as he leapt up and went into a fighting stance, the cigarette falling to the ground. He turned to see who it was and saw the panicked man who grabbed him the night before. "What the fuck, man?" he said. "How the hell did you get in here?"

"If you want to be a truly great fighter stop smoking," the man said, ignoring his question.

Jason launched towards him and threw a straight left towards his nose. In one fluid motion the man quickly slapped Jason's fist away with his right hand, and stepped in with his right elbow to Jason's temple. Jason collapsed to the ground unconscious.

Two minutes later Jason opened his eyes and looked around. The man was still standing there.

"I'm recovering from brain surgery and took you down in one second," the man said. "You have a lot to learn."

Jason looked at the man and reassessed him. He was wearing regular street clothes and glasses, with a short crew cut. Finally Jason realized who he was looking at. "Bruce? That was you last night?"

"Good memory," Bruce responded. "Good move last night, haven't seen that before."

"But how... I saw you... Batman... knock out Waylon."

"Misdirection on my part. Wanted to see if you recognized me wearing this. You failed."

"Well yeah, I was running from the Batman, or whoever that was."

"Doesn't matter, always be assessing. Every moment. Don't just see. Observe."

"Thanks," Jason said as he stood up. "I'll keep that in mind," he added sardonically. "What does it matter to you anyway?"

"Because we both have the same goal and I want you to survive. You're no use to me dead."

Jason narrowed his eyes. "Use to you? I don't work for you."

"Do you want to take down Dent?" Bruce asked as he walked around the apartment, looking at Jason's possessions.

A table in the corner had an assortment of handguns and various boxes of ammunition of different types next to it. On another table was a Barrett 82A1 sniper rifle, along with an HK416 carbine and ammunition for both. The table next to that had a pair of night vision goggles and various types of long range listening devices, some obviously custom built. Jason was obviously preparing for war.

"Take him down? I want to kill him," Jason informed him. "He killed my dad, he'll keep killing until he's stopped. I'm going to do that permanently. And then I'm going to clean up the East End. And the Narrows. Your team doesn't exactly pay enough attention to them here."

"You wouldn't make it. Dent pays for well trained help. More than likely you'd get killed without getting him. It would be a suicide mission."

"I'm okay with that."

"Civilians would get hurt and you wouldn't get to help out the East End. You'd just be found one day dead in an alley."

"I'm willing to take that risk," Jason stated defiantly.

"I'm not. You're not having a shooting war in my city," Bruce told him. Jason fumed, though kept still. "I'm not having a killer run loose in Gotham. I will stop you, and you know I can."

"So then why are you here?"

"To offer you something better. A chance to stop Dent, to live to see it, and to clean up the Gotham you talk about. It's your choice. Work with me or fight me. With me you get Dent. Against you get nothing."

"Why come to me at all? Why not just take me down now?"

"Because you can be an asset. You're smart, innovative, and can handle yourself in a fight. You can be my eyes and ears on the street. Go places where I can't. You have enormous potential, but a lot to learn. I can teach you, make you better. Make you a weapon."

"What, you're going to make me a superhero? Like you or Robin are?"

"I'm going to make you an operative. A soldier. If you can make it through the training we can decide if you want to wear some type of uniform. You probably won't pass, but you'll still have value as an agent."

"You don't know what I can do," Jason shot back. "I saved your ass from being killed. I took down that guy while you lay bleeding on the floor."

"And you did well for an amateur. Imagine what you could do with training. Think about it, Jason. You have nothing to lose and everything to gain. This is your only smart option."

"So let's say I say no and you take me down. Beat me up, drop me off at a police station. What's to keep me from keeping quiet about you being Batman? You can take me down, I can take Batman down. You won't kill me to silence me. Seems we have a stalemate here."

Bruce looked Jason dead in the eyes for a moment before responding. His tone slightly changed when he spoke. He sounded almost respectful. Approving.

"Because," Bruce answered, "when I was at my weakest you did the right thing, even though it meant revealing yourself to me. You might try and defy me, but you won't expose me. You do what you think is right, and you don't think that's right."

Jason knew what Bruce said was true. The Batman helped Gotham, and exposing Bruce as Batman would end that. Lives would be in danger. Chaos would erupt. Jason couldn't have that on his conscience. Gotham was his home. Frustrating as it was, Bruce was right. About everything. _Dammit_.

"The training," Jason said. "Tell me about it."

"I'll teach you what I spent over a decade learning. I will push your body and mind past every limit you think there is. It will hurt. A lot. It will be beyond frustrating. Much of it will seem pointless. Absurd. But everything I do has a purpose. Every detail matters. I ask, you do. No debates. You're going to see how much work it takes to be the Batman. And Jason, we do not kill. Ever. If you can't agree to that you don't train."

Jason nodded. "When do we start?"

"Tomorrow. These weapons," Bruce said as he gestured to the various guns. "We don't use them. They are the weapons of the enemy. They make you look weak. They make you lazy, and too reliant on firepower. Clean them. Drop them off at the nearest police station." He pulled out a card with an address on it. "Be here tomorrow at nine a.m."

"Anything I need to bring?" Jason asked.

"No. And I meant what I said about the smoking. That was your last cigarette."

Jason nodded. "I'll be there." He thought for a moment before asking, "After the fight, I ran all over Gotham. I was alone when I got off the subway. You planted a tracker on me when you bumped into me, didn't you?"

Bruce nodded. "Good job. I said you were smart."


	15. Chapter 15 DAY ONE

15

**DAY ONE**

Jason looked at the address on the card one last time as he stood in front of the massive empty warehouse. He had the right address, but it wasn't what he was expecting. The red brick building seemed to be over a hundred years old. All but a few of the window panes had been broken.

He approached a side door and not knowing what else to do, knocked. It seemed a bizarre thing to do for some reason. He waited for over a minute before knocking again. Jason checked his watch. He was a few minutes early but didn't think that would matter. He knocked again. After another minute he twisted the knob and pushed, and the door noisily opened. Jason stepped in and looked at the empty space. There was nothing on the floor, which was covered by a thick layer of dust. Directly to his right were stairs that lead to an upper landing and what looked like an office.

Jason shut the door and headed towards the stairs. He noticed that they were also covered in dust. Nobody had entered this place in years, perhaps decades. Jason slowly made his way up the stairs to the office. He cautiously opened the door and looked in. It was divided into sections inside, with the first part obviously being some sort of room for secretaries and pencil pushers. Jason counted eight archaic desks in the room, two of which had what he thought were typewriters on them. He had only seen them in tv shows and movies so he wasn't quite sure. Jason walked across the floor to the next room.

"Hello?" he asked again. It was now four minutes after nine. Jason figured Bruce would be a punctual person, so this surprised him.

He walked into the next room and found Bruce standing in the middle of the room, hands clasped behind his back, wearing black warm up Adidas pants and a gray t-shirt. He simply stood there, saying nothing. It had been nearly a month and a half since his surgery, and Jason noticed his jet black hair had returned a little from being shaved.

"Um, hi?" Jason said, confused.

"You were late," Bruce said coldly.

"I was early, actually."

"Not if you wanted to do a recce."

"What the hell is a recce?" Jason asked.

"Reconnaissance. If you have to be somewhere show up early and observe."

"Well how the hell should I know that's what you wanted? You said nine."

"It's a lesson. The first of many. You weren't supposed to know. Doesn't matter. You're going to come up against things that you should have known but didn't. Learn from them. How many exits were there in the main part of the building?"

Jason forgot about his frustration, proud that this was something he knew. "I counted three when I came in." He had learned in the streets that it helped to always know a way out of wherever you were.

"Wrong. There were three doors downstairs. I said 'exits'. Those three doors. The rollup doors on the opposite ends are two more. The door to this office is another. If those were all blocked you could have gone through any number of windows. Follow me." He turned and started walking towards the stairs past Jason. Jason turned to follow, frustrated but too curious about what was next to focus on it.

"Don't focus on your frustration," Bruce said as they walked downstairs, leaving footprints in the floor. "Focus on what you can learn. The lesson is the important part for now."

They got to the bottom and Jason continued following Bruce as he made his way to a corner of the space. He walked up to the wall and removed a brick that was shoulder height, revealing a small switch. Bruce flipped the switch and replaced the brick. Five seconds later a ten by ten section of the floor they were standing on started to lower.

"This hydraulic platform we're on takes us down to the lower section that's soundproofed," Bruce explained. "This was an ammunition manufacturing plant during World War Two." The platform finished lowering and track lights automatically came on, illuminating the lower level. It was the same size as the upper, but the walls and ceiling were made from sound absorbent material instead of brick. Jason saw a large floor mat the size of a boxing ring, a table with a MacBook Pro, iPad, headset, and goggles lying on top, two chairs, a treadmill, duffel bag, pull-up apparatus, a case of water, and nothing else. "Bathroom's in the corner," Bruce said, indicating a small door at the other end, as he stepped off the platform.

Once Jason stepped off the platform Bruce flipped a switch and it rose up to it's previous position. "Once the platform is in place the sprinkler system up top will spray a chemical that turns to dust once on the floor. Our footprints will disappear."

"That's kind of cool," Jason said.

"Always cover your tracks," Bruce said as he walked up to the table and opened the duffel bag. He pulled out a pair of oversized cargo pants and Gotham Knights sweatshirt he had picked up from a Goodwill store, along with used generic sneakers. "Put these on," Bruce instructed. "Come to the mat when you're done." Jason quickly changed and went to the mat.

Bruce was holding what looked like an oxygen mask with no tank attached. "Put this on," he told Jason. "I'm going to teach you to breathe."

"I don't know how to breathe?" Jason asked as he took the apparatus and placed it on his face. He pulled back on the rubber strap, securing it in place.

"Not properly. Breathing is essential to everything we do. This is measuring how you breathe and sending data to the iPad. I'm going to track everything you do. Now, mirror me."

Bruce sat on the mat with his ankles crossed underneath his body. He placed the palms of his hands on his thighs and began taking slow, measured breaths. Jason sat down across from him and matched his breathing. After several minutes Jason stopped.

"I feel like I'm being suffocated. This isn't enough air," Jason said. "I'm getting dizzy."

"Smoking constricts your capillaries," Bruce explained. "It takes more work to oxygenate your blood. This is the rate you're training on, eventually it will be enough and feel natural. This is your resting rate, even during stress. Keep going."

Eleven minutes later Bruce stopped the exercise and started stretching without saying anything. Jason again mimicked Bruce, but had a much more difficult time and wasn't nearly as flexible. After thirty minutes of stretches Bruce finished and walked to the treadmill as Jason followed.

"Get on," Bruce said as he walked over and picked the iPad off of the table. He pulled up an app and watched a graph of Jason's breathing during the stretches. Bruce closed the app and brought up another, his fingers dancing over the tablet. "This is a free-running treadmill," Bruce said. "You set the pace for running. Think you can run two miles in twelve minutes?"

"Watch me," Jason said with determination.

Eighteen minutes and twelve seconds later Jason finished. Sweating profusely he turned to say something to Bruce but instead began vomiting.

"That was horrible," Bruce said as Jason emptied his stomach. He handed him a bottle of water. "Back to the mat. Remember to put your mask back on after hydrating."

Bruce walked over to the mat again, and did twenty squats, forty air punches, ten jumping lunges, ten push-ups, five pull-ups, twenty shoulder touches, twenty mountain climbers, ten cross punch sit-ups, ten leg raises, and ten Russian twists non stop while Jason kept up. He then sat down again and began breathing exercises for two minutes along with Jason. Bruce then repeated the process nine more times, while Jason couldn't complete his fourth set. He collapsed to the mat exhausted, gasping for air.

"Remember your breathing," Bruce reminded him as he effortlessly began his fifth set. "Everything starts with breathing."

Bruce finished his ten sets and went over to the duffle bag. He pulled out two large clear plastic bottles filled with a grayish looking substance that to Jason looked like wet cement.

"Drink," Bruce ordered as he handed a bottle to Jason. Bruce unscrewed the cap on his own bottle and downed the semi-liquid, setting the empty bottle down.

Jason took of his mask,opened opened his bottle and took in a mouthful, making a horrible face. "God, what is this shit? A chalk smoothie?"

"It's everything you need and all you get from now on. Get used to it. Finish, put the mask back on, and follow me."

Bruce walked over to the table and opened the laptop as he sat down. He put his finger on the mouse pad and clicked on a program and began typing. "Sit down," he told Jason. Jason sat down next to him and looked at the screen.

"What is this?" Jason asked.

"Rosetta Stone software. You need to be multilingual. You're already fluent in Spanish, so we're starting with Russian. The assassin spoke Russian, you might need to know it soon."

"Wait, so you use Rosetta Stone to learn language? Isn't that... normal?"

"We use what works, Jason. Many times the simplest way is the best." Bruce handed him the headset. "Get started. Only take breaks to use the restroom and make sure to drink water. I've also set a notification light on your breathing mask. You're going to get a red light and alert every time you breathe out of the pattern."

Jason went through the program for the next four hours while Bruce read news and files on the iPad. A tiny node just below his right eye would blink red every time his breathing became too quick or too shallow. It blinked over ten times the first hour alone, frustrating Jason greatly. By the second hour he had gotten it down to six. It went up to seven on the third hour, but to three on the fourth. Jason was exhausted from the course, but had already learned more than he thought possible in four hours.

"Stop," Bruce said when the fourth hour was up. He sat the iPad down and went back to the mat. Jason followed.

"Thank God that's done," Jason said. "I was starting to get a headache. Breathing is getting better."

Bruce ignored his comment and turned to face Jason on the mat. "Get ready," Bruce."

"For what?" Jason asked, suddenly wary.

"Aikido."

An hour later the fighting session was over. Jason had a black eye and various bruises along his body, but hadn't complained once. Bruce had been impressed with how much Grant had taught the kid.

"You have a lot to learn about fighting," Bruce said as he handed Jason another bottle of the gray semi-liquid.

"Thought I was good," Jason said as he took the bottle.

"You have potential," Bruce said. "I frequently deal with fighters better than you. If you ever encounter a metahuman you have to be great. You need to be able to switch or even blend fighting styles at a moment's notice. Tailor your attack to your opponent. You've only fought thugs so far."

"Got it," Jason said as he finished his bottle. "What do you call this stuff?" he asked about the contents.

"Fuel. Follow me." Bruce walked over to the table and booted up the Rosetta Stone program again.

"You're fucking kidding," Jason said. His red light on his mask blinked. "I'm Russianed out."

"Good. Because this is Arabic," Bruce replied.

"God, I could use a cigarette right now..."

Jason again used the language program for the next four hours. His mask blinked far more due to his exhaustion. He was getting tired, hungry, and frustrated.

"Mat," Bruce commanded at the four hour mark. Jason made his way over and stood in front of Bruce. "Wing Chun Kung Fu," he said before launching at Jason.

Again an hour later Jason collapsed to the mat. They were entering their thirteenth hour of training and Jason was exhausted. Bruce sat down next to him, obviously exhausted as well.

"How are you doing this?" Jason asked. "I'm about to collapse, and I'm not recovering from brain surgery."

"This is my recovery," Bruce answered. "It's been five weeks since my surgery, I started training a week ago. I'm bouncing back quickly because I maintained my body, but I have to build up. You're going to build up with me. This is just the beginning."

"Anything you throw I can handle," Jason said despite his exhaustion.

"Follow me," Bruce said as he got up and went to the table. He took a bizarre looking headset with goggles off of the table and handed it to Jason, along with what looked like a video game controller.

Jason put on the headset and saw a computer generated image of the alley he had first encountered Batman in.

"This is a virtual map of Gotham," Bruce explained. "I used satellite imagery and recreated the city as closely as possible. You're going to see it from a first person view. Every street name you're on will show on your HUD. I'm going to give you five locations. You need to be able to run on the streets to those five locations within the allotted time. You choose the route."

"I'm playing a Gotham video game?"

"This is for you to learn the area in which we operate. Know all it's streets, it's alleys, it's buildings. This is the best way to do it without exposure. When you're out in the real world you'll be able to navigate better than anyone else. If you're breathing out of pattern a red light will blink and you'll start over. Go".

Over an hour later Jason finished with the five locations. They were in areas of Gotham he didn't know, and he had failed to meet the times in all but one. But he had learned. He took off the goggles and set them on the table along with the controller. It had now been over fourteen hours since they started. Jason was beyond exhausted.

"We're done for the day," Bruce said to Jason's relief. "Rest is a weapon. Get some sleep."

"What time do you want me back here?" he asked.

"You're not coming back," Bruce answered. "You're not leaving. Sleep here."

"What about a shower?" Jason could feel the grime that layered him from the multiple workouts and training. He felt disgusting.

"No shower."

What the fuck? Jason thought. What's the point in that? "Where do I sleep?"

"Pick a spot. The mat seems the most comfortable."

"I'm gonna guess there's not a sleeping bag in that duffle, is there?"

Bruce simply walked away without responding. He went to the corner of the space, activated the platform and left. Irritated, Jason walked over to the mat, took off his dirty sweatshirt, rolled it up and used it as a pillow as he laid down. He was asleep in less than three seconds.


End file.
